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male reader x karina & irene

part 1 of two roses, by every other name

28k words

It goes without saying that Karina’s reputation is flawless.

Irene’s is remarkably not.

You're not even staunchly a romantic or anything. You just can’t be assed to manage the distinction between desire and distance. So when the dust settles, the best case scenario is the three of you going around telling people, "all of this is actually a true story by the way."

You don't need the extra helping of moody and foreboding, but the wind picks up enough to chill you to the spot.

It blows some of the longer, darker strands of Irene's hair into her eyes and she shivers, too, against the cold as she tucks it behind her ears. You’ve got both hands balled into your coat pockets, watching her pretend like she isn't about to say something you absolutely do not want to hear. Then, a sigh - the length of which is probably unwarranted. You can feel the frost on the air burning through your teeth as you face back out toward the taxi stand.

It’s gotten late and you're still waiting on an empty cab - you’re realizing there was never a conversation to be had in the first place.

“For what it’s worth,” Irene says, and there’s an indecent proposal just in the way she glances at you. “I had my eyes on her first.”

It’s all on account of some sort of moral quandary, or whatever nonsense Irene pretends to believe every time it comes up. A gross power imbalance; an issue of innocence and entitlement; a threat of abuse. Something, another thing, patriarchal expectations, blah, blah - she fudges around the details, but never ever cares who gets hurt. Not really.

And it’s doubtful Irene believes what she says, not to mention she’s skeptical anyone is even capable of zipping their way down Karina’s denim, working a pair of hands up the contour of her long legs, and making her pant and gasp hard enough that she forgets to breathe.

Well, supposedly - that is anyone, save the two of you. Nevermind the fact she’s always, always been off-limits.

The bottom line is she's a whole decade younger than either of you. This just for starters - only legal for alcohol by some narrow margin. Because between you and your fiancée there are all these rules: no coworkers, no labelmates, no close mutual friends, no personal assistants, no jealous ex-lovers, and absolutely none of her juniors. It’s in poor taste, among other things.

Also, just as straightforward: crossing any number of those lines has its own kind of appeal.

"Okay,” you say, “then maybe you should be the one to tell her we’re taking her home."

Irene's arching her eyebrows at you like a silent rebuttal. She smiles after a laugh, quick and easy, because it's what she's good at. It's what she knows. “Like you weren’t hoping she’d be here, too."

The ash Irene taps off the end of her cigarette falls to the ground like snow. Hitting the pavement as if it might punctuate the thought. That's a rare first mistake from someone like you, and then a second one from her: she thinks she’ll need to defend herself with an explanation, like she’d ever need to justify anything to you.

“Besides, she’s not waiting for me to ask.” There’s a curl to her mouth - and then, she adds, for your benefit, "she'd follow you anywhere."

The twisted irony is that the two of you could pick up any woman, anyone at all.

"I think it’s a discussion for another day," you tell her, serious. She laughs out loud.

"Which one? Who Karina wants, or that you're aching every bit as much as I am to spread her out on our bed and fuck her? Because I'm pretty sure we can both agree that at this point-"

Your palm curls around the nape of her neck with a touch of on-your-feet-thinking: one of these moments that lets Irene sit with the knowledge of how small she really is against you, her head against the collar of your coat, chin angled just so to look up at your face. And there's only a beat that passes between your fingers in her hair, tugging gently as her hand releases to your waist, her teeth clipping against the press of your lips, before a cab pulls up right next to you. You kiss her hard. It probably looks cinematic.

If for nothing other than to give Karina one less thing to overhear when she comes back outside to join you.

"Really not the time," you whisper right into the subtle twist of her grin. Her cigarette's gone out in the snowy mess, but Irene smirks deeper in response before throwing it onto the wet concrete. She grinds it beneath her boot like a reminder, her hand still firm on your hip.

"What, you don't think it’d make her day? Don’t think she'd want to hear all those kinds of thoughts running together through our heads?"

You pull Irene in closer. “She’s not you.”

For context - only so you’re aware how it all starts - it wasn’t actually New Year’s Eve, even though everyone had been drinking like it were.

Also for context, it’s not something you were strictly invited to either. Irene’s company holds this holiday party at the end of every year where all of their employees show up (read: idols; Irene likes to argue about work sometimes - to which you have never contested the value of her labor - but your brain tends to fuzz out in the middle, and instead you mostly just watch her pretty mouth in motion). All of the high-up executives and department heads bring their uptight wives and girlfriends to some restaurant ballroom for a cocktail reception that only really functions for name dropping, or influencing the media, or placing side bets on who is sleeping with the CFO - or whose mistress might show up unexpectedly and meet someone's wife face-to-face for the very first time.

It happens to someone Irene knows, once. You pray every year it will happen again.

Be that as it may, there are a plethora of other terrible ways to spend an evening and a half, but it’s all laid bare in Irene's contract - attendance being mandatory; enjoyment excessively optional.

And sure, it’s taken time, but you have gotten used to it: the industry, all of its excess, the inevitable display, the million and one things required of Irene that you, on the other hand, will simply never be able to relate to.

The machine’s so fine-tuned and tightly wound, like clockwork.

"Yeah, whatever," she had said, leaning her hip against your bathroom sink earlier in the day. Her dress laid out neatly across your bed, already pressed, set with her heels and jewelry, everything set on schedule to the point of absurdity.

And so it goes.

You can hear her brushing her teeth through the open door - and see her profile through the hand-swiped-fog on the mirror. She drags the toothbrush to the corner of her mouth: "And before you even ask, yes, you have to come. That's the deal. That's always been the deal - bored, or busy, or trapped talking to some social climbing board member who’s realized the liquor flows fast and free - I don’t wanna hear about it. You’ll be there."

"Uh-huh," you say, eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror.

"Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she adds, spits, and lets the faucet run, “but this one’s shaping up to be a really long night.”

You watch the meticulous effort to pull her dark hair back into a low, neat bun as she turns and comes back into the bedroom, tossing her hair clip onto the bed to reclaim later.

“So I guess, pace yourself or something.”

"Ever the salesman, Irene," you say, facetious.

"Um, saleswoman, thank you." Her words are slightly muffled by a silk tank top pulled on over her head, then down the flat length of her body until it hits the tops of her thighs.

It’s not a matter of opinion that she'll look gorgeous in the stilettos, the dress - those earrings that catch light wherever it dares touch her. She'll smile her practiced grin. It'll probably taste sour after the hundredth person asks how long it's been and she tells them she can't remember. But then look - Irene here, still perfectly disheveled: her damp-darkened hair sticking to the porcelain skin of her neck, skin washed free of makeup. She’s beautiful. In a plain and simple way, simple-but-good. Even with the tight little scowl she shoots your direction. It’s a look she has to know could launch a thousand ships; could start a real, actual war; though you're far too charming to know how to fight - you’ve never seen the appeal.

Irene's teeth tug at the corner of her lip like she knows you'd probably end up dying in it. She puts forward this unassuming, nonchalant, “hey.”

She muses it right into a laugh. Covers her genuine smile with her fingers.

"Hey," is how you answer, always.

You’re noticing, now, the strap of her top has fallen just down the petite slope of her shoulder. You want to get your fingers beneath it. Maybe get her back in the shower. You’re never too picky.

And here: an unspoken demand, the thing that always gets you about her - while Irene stands in front of you, her finger looped between the top buttons of your shirt to draw you close. The bow of her lip perked ever-so-slightly, this soft pucker - all pretty in pink. "Before I slip into this dress, you’re going to push me against something sturdy and kiss me until I'm dizzy," she instructs, calm and methodical.

"A lot," you continue for her. You nod seriously, for a moment. "Dizzying."

She closes her eyes and leans in, and you lean into her, too. "Yeah, exactly," she ends up murmuring under a hot breath. "So, get to it.”

And so it goes, and so it goes.

"Have a drink," someone keeps saying.

As a matter of fact, they all do: four shots together - or one old-fashioned, or two vodka seltzers, or three of these mystery concoctions that come in a tall-stemmed glass you didn’t actually catch the name of, and jesus, it fucking reeks of prosecco. You pace yourself, within reason. You really do.

Irene gets elusive under the surface, which is to say, she doesn't change at all - not even at the edges.

And though everyone is here to be seen, only a few actually do any of the talking. Irene has it covered - you do your time.

Happy New Year, sorta. You wait it out.

She tastes like everything sweet, strong on her heels and sharper on her tongue - and sometimes, it’s not the best mix, given all you can manage is the touch and scent of Irene without actually getting at the insides of her thighs or that tempting stretch of skin under her ear, her neck, down to her chest.

This much, and she has no complaint - hardly seems surprised or inconvenienced - to you stepping her into the wall like it's a matter of instinct.

She just sighs, a short huff. "Don't miss these kinds of parties," she then confesses, right into your mouth, her warm exhale filling you whole. The sounds of people laughing and champagne glasses clicking nearby, a new song starting up, it's all an unnecessary backdrop, and Irene isn't distracted by a single bit of it.

Character, setting, scene; it’s all rather textbook, no?

You know what the sounds mean, the soft hums, the lingering touches, the firm press of your palm into the dip of her waist or the slender line of her back. She knows where all the cameras are because she knows everything that anyone could possibly ever want to know, such as the fact that this empty stairwell is a perfect place to start, that there isn't a real plan as to where this might go - or when it should end.

And you should know where not to press - or bite or grab or leave a mark - not in some liminal space, nor some vacant practice-room, not beneath a desk, not behind a curtain. No, not here, cloaked in shadow and secrecy, another scandal in the making. Not that the knowledge stops you from testing out the lines, from drawing little patterns up Irene's waist, slipping one hand along the barest skin where her dress has hitched up along her thigh. To a boundary, the low pitch of her voice, some suggestion like, "not here, are you serious?" mumbled across your lips like it really doesn't matter what gets said or does not.

She’s pinned so properly, so precisely, that the discord between her gentle coaxing, and your hard, bruising edge - that sheer incongruity between what you should do and what you should not - can make the adrenaline spike.

She kisses you harder - and harder, and harder. She catches the small sigh you let out. She kisses you breathless.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re wasting an opportunity, given that you’re both dressed to the nines and are usually more homebody than anything else. Isn’t that the irony of fame? You sign up for an escape, and spend your life running away.

Irene eventually sinks back into the soles of her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, and she smiles so easy. She tugs at the cuffs of your jacket, sets your collar flat and proper.

"I'm thinking," you hear her say, taking stock for herself, the flush high in her cheeks, the tousled sort-of-curls now bared, "in half an hour, if you feel like leaving early, we could, oh, I don't know - escape?"

Escape to a bed with a door that locks, you assume she means. Irene wants; you deliver - however she'd like.

“Sounds tempting,” you tell her. She laughs against your shoulder. "Are you waiting on someone else to sweep you off your feet, maybe? Another offer?"

"Uh, always," she scoffs. It's the little things, confidence, and certainty, the honest-in-practice; how her palms sit soft and secure, cupping the angle of your jaw, one hand, now, toying with the knot of your tie like she's contemplating just how it might fall off of you later. Irene shrugs, leaning her weight back against the wall.

She taps a finger to her lips. Ends up saying, very solemn: "Thirty minutes."

As if you had any intention of absconding without her.

Irene holds true to her word - she catches you on the second to last pass around the banquet room. Some executive with a slack mouth is just launching into what sounds to be a spiel about a merger - it's unimportant, not well-versed, so Irene sidles up to you, and immediately steals your attention. It doesn't bother you in the least. She curls her finger into the cuff of your jacket sleeve, and without really being prompted or asked - and only, probably, due to the clear discomfort she has being there with anyone else - she begins dragging you out of the room; you, her ticket out of hell.

"I'm so sorry," Irene dons the industry smile and is probably charming. It's difficult for you to tell. You follow her blindly. "So sorry," she tells someone else as you exit, just before you both disappear entirely, "We're leaving. But, we'll see you next year, promise!"

A real celebrity.

The two of you suddenly a duo - and for everyone’s safety, the way it should probably always ought to be - here’s how it’s all supposed to go:

You, standing almost amidst a bank of snow gathered at the curb, your coat fanned out around Irene, shivers racking up her slight frame. All hidden just enough that if anyone were to notice where your hand ends up arriving at the narrow of her waist, they might think: 'it's not really any of my business,' and look away.

Her, curled beneath your touch - even the single press of your fingers over the small of her back as a stranger pulls a car up to the curb; or, the pull of you that ensures the driver can't actually see what you're both up to, what you're hiding; the little reach she makes into your pocket for a lighter, smiling appreciatively as she presses her cold face to the crook of your arm, your jaw, the juncture of your neck; a safe space.

“So.” Irene will look up at you, pale moonlight gathered in her lashes. She’ll make another face: this thousand kilowatt grin or her brow raising - sharp, quick, there-then-gone. She'll turn the lighter over in her hand once, twice, and say, “how long has it been since we’ve done anything social?”

You’ll know it’s not what she means, but you’ll offer her the out anyway: "could go downtown - there's a place you've probably never been to. Might even play your style of music, if you're really lucky."

Irene will arch her eyebrow as she raises the cigarette to her mouth, lit up before you know it.

"Is that right?" she'll say, dismissive, a smoky tendril curling up over city neon and catching starlight.

You're no stranger to what’s actually being suggested - an unspoken sort of arrangement. All because Irene sees herself as being above, hiding her intentions in euphemism, tact; in long, slow drags; in lilting lashes - while she's fully and shamelessly aware there's nothing virtuous about it.

Who the hell else could make it sound dignified, pretty even: ménage à trois.

Then, you’ll do your part. You’ll help interpret: another girl, gorgeous and probably unclothed, another bad decision, or two, the three of you finding yourselves back in your apartment where Irene will not hesitate to run her tongue up the side of a sweat-glistened neck, to tilt her head and whisper out a mantra of, honey, sweetie, anybody ever tell you how good you look between a woman’s legs? Or, fuck, let’s get you out of those jeans, let me take you all in, how the fuck have we not gotten our hands on you before?

Which means the question you really ought to be asking sounds more like, “maybe we can invite someone over?”

You’ll meet her eyes as they flick up - a lazy expression, easy to read. "Bingo," she’ll say, blowing smoke and even more caution to the wind.

Almost to a fault, everything she does draws attention. Every fool with a blog and a camera posted outside of an event will have her labeled on-sight. You can already see the headline - because the only thing worse than everyone thinking you're the antagonist is looking the part. The imagery, red carpet, sexy evening dress, sultry, regal. The caption, Bae Joohyun - they use her government name like they really know her - sulking in smoke, or thirty flirty and thriving? below a thumbnail of her holding the cigarette, with your suit jacket draped over her shoulders. She's a total tabloid darling. Irene the temptress, or Irene, ice in her veins, or Irene - "How does she look so fucking gorgeous without makeup?!" or "Do I wanna hate her, or wanna be her? @RedFlavor_ROYAL," or "In every shot I feel like Irene has me staring into her soul."

Add that to the fact the girl’s utterly shrouded in myth.

Everyone running amuck with speculation; she's the girl-next-door, she’s the fantasy-in-real-life, she's someone everyone could see themselves fucking - she’s the heroine they say, the villain, the perfect wife, the one-that-got-away. They never do decide.

Though there’s only one opinion she’ll concern herself with, and only on occasion: yours.

Her fingers will come in the dark to trail feather-light from your collarbone, between the rise and fall of your shirt buttons, before pressing open palmed to your chest to still right there, and she's such a pretty thing in the plain black dress, all yours and very much in the mood - which you'll already have reason to know, in part from having felt your way around her no more than a hour prior, but also just the way Irene's been looking at you from beneath her dark lashes all evening, that subtle predatory gleam in her eyes.

You’ll hold her close. Irene will have the audacity to comment, “love you,” in this delicate little whisper, quiet like it could go either way - affection or gratitude. Maybe a touch of both.

A car will shortly arrive, pulling up to the curb with snow melting under its tires, headlights in your eyes, and then finally, in no particular order, your heart hammering: the click of the lighter, the falling ash, the sweet easy laugh, the crunch of ice under foot as she steps down beside you, the soft sweep of your arm.

You have no complaints about the proposal. A lack of argument or dispute is basically the same thing as consent, isn't it? For all intents and purposes, as a whole, it's really kind of a win-win:

Irene needs variety, which you're well aware of. It's only natural for someone who can have anything they want. And, sure, you happen to be a willing participant when it comes to satisfying the occasional whim.

So - the conversation will follow you right into the backseat of the cab, simply to iron out the details.

“Tall. Beautiful. Soft, soft, soft - like cashmere, a luxury brand," Irene will have one heel off and her knee braced up into the back seat while the other leg extends across your thighs, fingers running along your coat collar to make idle circles against the exposed skin there. "Or, at the very least, someone with a little more bend to their character - you know how those prim and proper types always get a bit lost in you.”

"And wouldn’t you know."

It’ll sound smooth, probably. Irene will roll her eyes.

“So, okay,” you'll return to her, right after instructing the cabbie how to get to Irene's place. None of the implications here are lost on you. “You have anyone particular in mind?”

"Hm, I’m thinking."

You can picture it, roughly: Irene's whole body sunk into the dark corner of the seat - one leg idling over the other. Her foot bouncing at your thigh. She has her heels in one hand, earrings in the other.

She’ll look wistfully out the window; the intermittent flashes of city lights casting her face in different hues. The curve of her jaw; the stately line of her nose; her thick black lashes - composition and subject. It's this kind of attention to detail that the cameras scramble to pick up. It’d be better if they got it for the right reasons.

You’ll pull out your phone. Start the usual scroll from the top of your contacts. The girls you know, the girls you don't, the ones who might be awake or who definitely are, regardless of time of day or night.

Irene will finally perk up, gleaming.

Someone cute, she might say, only because she'd rather not admit, someone like me. There's limits to her vanity insofar as her taste - in all sorts of things.

But she does like the idea of it. Someone young and pretty and impressionable; someone naive, or tiny and helpless; it's never difficult to find the girl who will fawn over her - all wide-eyed and doe-faced the instant Irene floats her fingers across her collarbone, smirking - when she starts at the zipper at the back of her neckline and says, "we’re going to see how wet I can get you," without missing a beat. Someone who will eventually say please when Irene gets a little stern and tells her, "ask me what I'm gonna do to you," in a rasp so smoky that it would make the cigarette seem blasé.

But that, you suppose, is the nature of Irene. A touch domineering. A little more than just a pretty face.

She always takes, but she takes gently - a push here, a pull there, she knows people will give her anything.

It will be more obvious when there's a small voice trembling between the two of you, twisted up in your sheets and simpering with the gentle sort of affection that Irene deals so expertly: two fingers sliding up, pressing down. Curling, beckoning. Slow and tender, without giving up that she's looking for any soft spot; a weak point. Some vulnerability to exploit.

It'll be right after whichever plaything of the hour pulls her lips off yours, off the length of your fingers - or when she unfastens her mouth from the hard shape of your cock with an obnoxiously loud pop: "do you guys do this kind of thing often?"

And Irene, without even an ounce of hesitation, will rip right into the sheer of her stockings, letting out an aggressively casual laugh. She’ll plant a kiss somewhere deep. Say, "oh, honey," as she nuzzles into the crease of her thigh. "We're pretty new to this too."

Everyone, just - believes her. For the same reason you suppose they believe she's perfect. She’s good, really good at all this.

In the taxi, Irene's foot will continue to tap against your leg, until you're stopping her by covering her knee with your hand. As for now, the evening will remain all but written in stone. You'll run a hand through your hair, you’ll lean an elbow against the window - the whole while, ignoring the sudden itch between your shoulder blades at the thought of something else. At the thought of all the other girls who'll take an instant liking to her. Who wouldn't.

The light will change. The intersection will empty. The radio will turn to static.

You'll eventually offer up a name like, "Jennie Kim," among others. Moving alphabetically down your contacts list. Taking you a long while to make it through the 'K's.

"Hm." Irene's soft hum of disapproval, non-committal. "Are you asking, or telling?"

The difference won't matter. "I'm suggesting," you'll say.

You’ll watch how Irene turns the name over in her mouth a few times before smiling - how she knows, there's the smallest part of you that has her held in a certain light. "Maybe," she'll say, tapping her phone against her cheek in the contemplation of whether or not this is a tentative no or a provisional yes - when really what she'll avoid an answer with is, "aren’t we a little tired of Jen?"

Tough to say.

Good, sweet, and just naive enough to get twisted up between you, in her case. Oh, Jennie’s the type of girl - you'll stuff your cock in her pretty little cunt while leaning into her, taking her arms and pinning them to the base of her spine, so she can't reach and can't claw and can't make an utter fucking wreck of herself. The two of you have known Jennie for too long, is what will strike you then. And a moment later, the idea of sinking into her ass from behind with your palm flat and warm against her hip and your voice husky and deep in the way she likes, and saying, god, fuck, Jen, you’d let me do anything wouldn’t you, you’d let me cum in here too.

And - she would, really.

She wouldn't even complain. Her face would be pressed so firmly against Irene's thighs, and she would whimper, not beg. Even though you know it’s what Irene might prefer; how it makes her look real cute - cheeks stained crimson as the syllables roll around her tongue before being forced out into the open.

"I think she's great," you might say out loud, lowkey.

And in a voice that is louder than strictly necessary, Irene will cut in: "she lets you finish in her ass, and then not even three minutes later she'll say it was the best lay of her life, of course you do."

It’ll make the cab driver clear his throat.

"What you’re saying is ‘no.’"

Irene will frown, thoughtful, but not conceding anything - perhaps she means hold onto that thought for now. If nothing else sounds particularly enticing, we'll call it a maybe. "I’m saying: Jennie is. I don't know."

You can hear the end of her sentence: not quite good enough. Not this time around, but someday, sure, someday soon.

"And for the record," Irene will follow, casual, with a dismissive hand wave. "Just because you got to her first doesn't mean she's ever liked you more."

The few that fall afterwards will never make the cut. Irene will turn them all down. Jisoo - no, sorry, look, she's so, so pretty, Irene will be trying to explain, gesturing in a way that's hard to interpret. "But a little too stuck up for my tastes."

You've been speaking in code for years. She means: way, way, way too straight.

"The blonde though," Irene will try right after that. “Daisy, or Lily, oh god something or another, what was her name-”

"Um, do you mean Rosé?”

“Yeah.” Irene will sink back into the leather, sipping down a memory or two and shifting her skirt up the top of her thighs.

You'll consider the angle. Your options: Rosé on her knees right inside the foyer of your apartment, Irene's hands wrapped tightly in her hair, controlling the rhythm. The way she gets her fingers spread under Irene's knees and draws her forward, pushing up with her eager, prying mouth - licks and licks, nosing against the heat of Irene's pussy until she’s gasping and locking her hands around the younger girl's head to steady the jerk of her hips.

Then, you'll laugh out loud. Because you know, Rosie isn’t anywhere close to straight enough.

And the back-and-forth of what-ifs and could-bes will follow. An endless string, a laundry list. Where Irene makes a face for every name, every suggestion: too messy, or too innocent, or too sweet, or too boring, or not nearly shy or gullible enough, or whatever other bizarre caveat she finds to slot between all of her impassioned criticisms. The cabbie will be shaking his head at some point too, because the question hangs over the taxi at large:

What exact criteria could possibly be good enough for the distinguished tastes and sensibilities of Bae Irene?

(The truth is: it doesn’t go like that at all.)

Enter then, Yu Jimin.

The run-in starts there, downstairs, out standing in a pool of warm, yellow light. The snow flurrying about in the glow of a street lamp - melting into where her smoothed curtain of jet-black hair spills over her shoulder and trickles down her sleeve. She looks a little cold, but not noticeably shivering. There's a red flush to the exposed length of her legs, between a pair of knee-high boots and the short hem of the coat itself. The stockings underneath offer little in the way of wintery protection - nor do the little bows that rest at the the bands of elastic around her soft, pale thighs - though it's obvious to anyone who's looking why she'd choose to wear them.

An assay into form over function. She's never cared for pragmatism.

But the lines around her are pristine, a clean-cut of shadow and substance; you take a step onto the curb, feeling yourself fall right into the foreground.

Look: you know Karina. You both do. Enough to recognize where it’s calmest before a storm.

Irene eventually calls out her name into the silence, and there is a split-second where her fingers reflexively wrap around the crook of your elbow. Almost possessive.

A car rushes by. Karina turns with her ungloved hand holding her cellphone to her ear and she's fucking gorgeous as can be, always pinning you with these big, unapologetic eyes - strikingly and somewhat deceptively innocent beneath her sharp brows. A breathy huff in response; she's otherwise unaffected.

Her shoulders shrug in easy dismissal; a quirk of the corners of her mouth. She slips her phone back in the pocket of her pea-coat. "Oh, how we all doing?"

Not for long, the question lingers.

"Fine," Irene finally replies, though her voice doesn't rise above a disinterested murmur.

"Easier, right? To fight for breath down here than it is up there," she says, pointing her gaze up high into the rafters of the building, and in a lot of ways, you realize, she's just like Irene - sweet, charming, this uncanny ability to make you think she's close, when she isn't actually looking to share anything. When she hasn't exactly decided that she likes you or anything at all.

You squint slightly. Take in where her silhouette appears darker against the backdrop of city lights, blending with the velvety black, bleeding into the ink-smudged night sky.

"There's certainly something to be said for flying under the radar at these things," she continues, taking one step closer towards you as if for comfort. Or privacy - to guard against anyone who might walk by.

"You've still got it easy," Irene says, "that, and everyone thinks you're too pretty to go after. No one even seems to consider the idea, it’s insufferable."

"Jealous?" Her tone is playful. There’s a smirk she’s suppressing - until she can’t hold it in: an unexpected, stunning smile, dimple and all. This incongruously kind face.

Oh, and listen, no one gets it better than Irene.

"No," Irene exhales, hot. “Not at all.” You can see where the thin plume of her breath hangs over her like a cloud for a moment, thinking, before dissipating against the harshness of a frigid December breeze.

"Really." She smiles at you again. Makes a sound that could be a laugh, you don’t know, the wind takes it, far away.

"Are you out here waiting for someone?" you have to ask.

"Loaded question." Karina purses her lips for a moment. Her long eyelashes blink once, twice. "Because, I dunno, aren't we all?"

"Some of us more than others." Irene speaks quietly, moreso to herself than anyone else - but somehow her voice carries.

"Cheeky," Karina says, and this time she does laugh. "No. I'm waiting for a cab. I've had one hell of a night, and no interest in spending the rest of it in some rising socialite's bed, doubters excluded, because - look, I'm happy for you guys, I guess? You're gonna get married," she claps slowly, slow and mocking, slow enough that Irene rolls her eyes, "-or, the two of you will make a statement saying that you are - either way it sounds fucking exhausting - congratulations to you both. But seriously, congrats."

This is sorta how you've always known her.

Faintly-hinted secrets, flirty half-truths. Her love life is an utter wreck, but that’s not something you’re supposed to know. So that's all she gives, which is more or less how everyone knows her. It's the only way to survive, probably, in a world of glitter and glamour, when everyone's vying to look, to feel, to take, and take, and take. Irene knows how suffocating it can be - she doesn’t lie about it, not to you, which is the only reason you're so well-versed.

Point being, no one wants to admit to any cracks in the fantasy; the gold too shiny, the surface too slick, the mirror too smooth for that illusion to slip.

"So go grab a guy with a half-decent smile and get him to buy you a drink about it," Irene suggests, derisive, "arch your back, push your tits out, get creative. I doubt it'll be much trouble at all."

Karina looks down, back up - with a slight chew of her lip, saying, "you just have me beat in all the important ways, I suppose. You got it in the bag, no real competition."

Irene is smiling, but her expression is unimpressed; it doesn’t mean much, really, to be her friend, her colleague, or worse, her opponent. Irene is calm like an evening in July, a low, cool, languid feeling. "I don't mean to be a prick, but, aren't you a little young to be so jaded?"

"Gosh," Karina’s grin doesn’t change, but does turn a touch wicked, like she's biting back. "I'd hate to be around when you do mean to be a prick, but maybe we'll find out - you know, down the line, someday.”

Irene tuts softly. It sounds patronizing. "Please, you'll have to forgive me - for mistaking you for someone more aware of how the rest of us work."

“You're one to talk, Irene."

“Careful,” Irene warns.

"What, you gonna set me straight?"

"Right." The way the word rolls off Irene's tongue, slow, thick, bitter, like molasses; like the coffee she has when she's tired, like the cigarette she swears left and right she’s cutting out and the vodka she needs you to reach for in the upper cabinets, like the person she is after midnight when you've let her keep drinking to find the limits to her inhibition. You understand Irene too well. And no matter what anyone says, you will not have the facts wrong.

There's no kindness to the way she laughs. None.

She tilts her head to you, grinning: an honest grin, her favorite thing - inimitable, unique, and hers alone; her version of cruelty is what will always have them doubting. You hold her gaze as she adds, "of all things, right now - wouldn’t you just love to set her straight?"

Depending on who you ask, you’ll get different results.

Irene insists you kissed Karina first, probably out there in the snow - god knows how cliche would that be.

She also insists that it was you who suggested that “there’s a lot more sense in splitting a cab,” and then minutes later, “please, it'd be no trouble, just let us pay. Our place is five blocks that way," and Irene - being Irene - mentioning it's actually quite a bit further, but hey, it isn’t worth splitting hairs over. And it's not worth explaining - she shuts you up with another kiss, pressing her weight hard up against you, the arm she slings around your neck.

Then in a sort of mythologized version of the timeline, it's you who makes the proposition - invites Karina upstairs, with the charm that Irene knows is usually reserved for her benefit alone: that slight tick of the brow, the delicate slant of your mouth, the confidence you seem to have in thinking no one will ever say no, no matter how brusque the invitation-

"You two are unbelievable. Is this really your standard procedure?" Karina asks, once you're through the door, or maybe during a bout of smalltalk in the kitchen. Something flirtatious; and suggestive, and maybe a little offhand. A pointed glance downwards, back up. All it really will take. "You get some girl into your home and they're just so overwhelmed and dazzled and in love, they can't even make eye contact for longer than a second? Because that's quite a line," a soft huff, the exhale that seems to carry the faintest note of a sigh. You could call it wistful. Just this side of romantic; very attractive.

“That’s more or less the gist of it,” you offer.

“You’d be surprised.” Irene is lingering on it, back against the counter beside you, laughing. "Some people are more than happy to be swept off their feet."

"Imagine that. If that's how this is meant to go, then tell me," and Karina lifts her chin, a breath drawn slow and deliberate, "what exactly do prince and princess charming do next?"

Consider that Karina’s interpretation of events is closer to reality: no pretense. She is not drunk, and in this story, she never will be.

But it's the slow-burn thing, the rivals-to-lovers thing, the sexual-tension-through-conflict thing, the white-hot-blistering-rage matter gone awry. Not a series of happy accidents, but a result of intentional circumstance - this slow arc of descent. She knows exactly how Irene is tightly wound, and which thread to pull to make everything start to unravel. She'd flirt with you right under her nose - say things in this obnoxiously girlish tone, pout a lot, lean into so much innuendo it becomes impossible to miss the meaning, or the sincerity behind it.

If you had to guess - Karina’s been pining since forever, since Irene accidentally etched her DNA into the girl upon saying, carelessly, that she’d always seen some part of herself in Karina. Probably around the time Irene wrapped a palm over an expanse of bare thigh, just beneath the hem of her skirt, telling her, you're getting way too pretty for your own good.

Doesn’t matter who you are, that’ll fuck you up for real.

And it's not just how she looks at Irene when she thinks no one is watching either; swings and roundabouts, Karina probably can’t keep the thought of you sprawled out over Irene’s petite little frame, or Irene kissing you hard while wrapped around you tight. Your hand, her hand, intertwined and picturesque, sliding down Irene's stomach. Together - and so very without her - fingertips stroking lightly over Irene’s clit, gently dipping inside her.

Irene is not stupid. She picks up on everything, and there's a lot to unpack:

"Can you believe it? Minjeong just asked me if I've ever kissed a girl before," Karina had said to you once, ages ago, between a workout or dance practice, something or another - she was wearing a loose-fit tank top and very intent on showing off. She seemed then to be taking mental note of the face Irene put on, the look of someone trying to hold in an aneurysm.

“Well,” you played along, because you’re not really without blame here either. "Have you?"

"Oh my god." Karina knew what she awas doing, the playful slap to the chest, the lingering touches she’d have on you every chance she could get - total fucking coquette - anything to get a rise out of you, your fiancée. She hushed her voice down to this strategic whisper that Irene could just overhear: "of course not."

You better believe Irene broke her composure not soon afterwards, after Karina made her exit.

"Do not fuck her," she demanded, firm, "I don't care how good you think she might be in bed, or what she would probably let you get away with."

You remember the knit of her brow.

“Do not.”

You’re sighing, profoundly. The memory - not to mention its shocking clarity - has put a smug sort of satisfaction into your bones, indulging. The nip to Karina's jaw, a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. A hand tracing down the curve of her hips, under the guise of helping her settle between the cushions of the couch. You feel like you catch the color flooding her cheeks. Then, Irene, her pretty little shadow: the steady presence over her other shoulder.

"What." Karina sounds defensive when Irene pulls her lips away, but the hand she has buried in Irene's hair doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. "Are we going to pretend for a minute I don't see the way you're both looking at me right now?"

"Don't be stupid, darling, of course not." Irene leans up close again. Kisses up her neck, behind her ear, and coos, "the two of us, you just seemed like you were needing someone, that's all," and then whispers the words, barely audible: "I mean look, who wouldn't want the three of us right now?"

Karina hums. "Ah, so - you think I deserve to have a little fun."

"Maybe," she draws it out a little longer.

Your hands dip below her knees, running over the silk-slick surface, tugging at the frills lining her thighs - feeling up over the outline of where her body curves under her dress. Over the dark pattern printed across the front.

Karina swallows visibly, her head dropping back against the armrest, the couch cushion; by the way she shudders slightly and starts breathing, you realize that it's probably been a while since she's had much experience being in a position this helpless. You draw your fingers lightly across the bareness of her skin, right as Irene finds that sensitive spot just where her neck slopes to her collarbone. You trace along the fabric until you have her squirming beneath you both.

She sucks in a breath as Irene drags a touch right over the obvious seam, across the expanse of her hip, and despite your fiancée being a tad forward -

"Both of you should know I'm not that type of girl. Who puts out so easily-"

"Likewise," Irene practically sneers, not missing a beat and threading her fingers beneath her jaw, feeling her pulse against the pad of her thumb.

"Yeah, well. If this isn't a setup, then, what-"

“A setup.” Irene breathes the word out, contemptuous, which is almost as if she says yes, you figured it out, and she starts to lean in closer - the distance between the two of them now negligible as her mouth tightens with her derision. "That is awfully conceited of you."

"Ha."

You choose right there to run your palm between her thighs and cup at the front of her pussy through the skirt of her dress, squeezing tightly. There has to be an element of good cop, bad cop to this whole routine, and you'd be remiss not to participate in the former. Irene's glare is starting to become pretty intimidating.

"The way I see it," you begin, and it's so gentle. Easy to slip through, but easy enough to grip - no threat, or indication that she should stop rocking forward to the motion of your fingers, toying idly. "There's no catch. Only: Irene calls the shots. If you end up with a crush, or worse, think you're in love," a light squeeze to illustrate the point, the dig of nails, not too rough, but definitely drawing attention. "You've gotta walk it off.”

Karina just runs her tongue across her lips, sighing.

“No strings attached, no special treatment. Or anything."

"Oh." Karina is looking straight at you, dazed - as your fingers work harder, picking up where her hips started rolling a second before. She licks her lips. "You're telling me that I'm going to get fucked so thoroughly here, that it's gonna be a problem."

"Actually," you pull away, pushing her dress up so you can touch up ever higher this time. Rooting between her soft thighs. "I can't make any guarantees. You'll need to convince us first."

There's a laugh, from a spot inside her diaphragm - and yeah, there's no denying the reality here. She's nervous; or excited; or nervous-excited. Karina just lets it pass, an exaggerated sound in her throat, before gasping on an exhale of breath: "convince you to fuck me?"

"Between us, we've kissed our fair share of pretty girls in the heat of the moment," Irene supplies.

Karina laughs. Starts saying, "in that case, can I start by confessing that this whole exchange has left me pretty fucking wet-"

You slip one finger down the rise of her panties, this lacy little number she probably picked out with sordid fantasy in mind.

"Oh god," she says, voice drowned in her throat, husky, and sultry - it’s really hard not to appreciate the girl, like this - and then she closes her eyes, saying it again, "oh, yeah, like - like that. Okay, thank you."

Irene puts a hot kiss into her lips, and a subjugating silence stills over the living room, softening around her small voice, her breathing. Everything comes together so seamlessly, so effortlessly:

The click of Irene’s heels against hardwood, these soft sounds of wet tongues twisting and bodies grinding, Karina's face, buried somewhere under Irene's chin, letting out the cutest moan. Irene's helping the rest of the dress up over Karina's ass, then up past her waist, pulling down the scalloped elastic of her stockings. She grabs hold of her hips, feeling the draw of her curves there - you watch how your other half does the thing she does best, the thing where she strips a girl down to nothing like she's doing them a favor.

"Pretty," Irene appraises her naked body - not her face, not her mind, not her ambition or the strength of her determination, or god forbid, something banal like her personality, but, "fuck, look at you, look at this figure," her palm skates along the plane of her stomach, "so pretty."

It could be the insinuation: Irene is ready to reduce the girl down to a heap of jumbled nerves; to tears, probably - given half the chance. Like she's telling her a body as flawless and well-manicured and sweetly receptive to being toyed with as hers needs to get absolutely wrecked, among other things.

(Fucked so deeply, and to the point of utter exhaustion - the point is that she forgets her own name.)

Irene knows just by looking, her eyes tracing down each and every one of Karina’s curves like they’re taking inventory. It could be as simple as a handprint seared into her ass, a stinging red stain etched into her soft, creamy white skin, marking the insides of her thighs, her beautiful fucking tits - oh, the things the two of you could do.

"How do you want it, exactly?" Irene's eyes are dancing around her face, in her stare, darting down, then back up. "How, baby."

Karina smiles against Irene’s lips like she knows the answer, the perfect one. She must already have the script prepared. It's no stretch of the imagination: "anything, as long as it means you both keep looking at me."

Because maybe it's down to the pure physicality of it all. Something Karina's been waiting to feel, desperate to have, for some time - as you set into action, dismantling any pretense that you weren’t about to devour the heat of her aching cunt, from running touches all over her slick pussy. It’s a strong theory, you figure, from the visceral response you get when you get start to fuck her, when you slide a finger inside: tight and snug, and so unbelievably wet.

“Oh,” she breathes out, and it sounds sated and needy all at once.

You make sure to glance at her face before pressing another into her. All the way past the knuckles. She looks lost to the feeling, the pleasure; her expression gone hazy-eyed as you start fucking into her with a few steady pumps of your wrist - slow and then faster, then faster again - fucking into her with increasing urgency.

Just to keep her gasping, panting.

Like a woman starved for it.

"God," Irene kisses softly into her mouth. Her hand tangled in Karina's hair, twisting strands between her fingers and tugging just shy of something painful, "you're really sensitive, aren't you?"

Karina nods, slightly. It’s all she can manage.

You have a soft spot for girls who will spread themselves open like they can't wait, but still end up flustered over how your lips ghost across aching flesh. Who can't even form the words - asking for this, and that, and a million little things; and look at Karina - blushing, her eyes fluttering closed, and digging her nails into the couch the moment you finally put your hot mouth on her. Her entire body is drawn taut like a live wire.

"Relax," you coax, speaking more to the muscle - her legs tensed, and knees pulled tightly together. You know just where to place your lips to make her go to pieces, but it's worth suspending pleasure - your own, and Irene's, who won't admit that this sorta turns her on too - so Karina's face might open up, so the tilt of her brow can slack, and the twist of her expression can soften. Like it's the only chance she'll ever get.

When you place your palm across Karina's stomach to steady her and look up, Irene has started peeling off her own clothes, down to nothing but the little panties underneath. That garter-belt thing that makes her ass look like she was sculpted straight out of clay - a reminder she's always worth your time, no matter what mood she's in, or whether or not she'll eventually let you take the lead. She's lifting herself on the couch to throw off the little slip of a dress, the high heels. “Baby," she purrs, teasing, maybe to distract from how she’s gone from dragging circles with her fingernails across Karina’s collarbones to kneading roughly at her tits. And she might even insert something she's never actually had a chance to confess out loud, or even consider much, like: she's been dying to know what Karina's face will scrunch up into, or what her eyes will look like, tears stained across her lashes while you fuck her within an inch of her life. The image you’ll find when you find all those spots that drive a girl wild.

Your mouth drags over the slick, her lips, her clit, and down again - as if to illustrate the point.

"That feels - so," she starts, and bites off the rest of the words.

Irene grabs hold of Karina's hands. Presses their mouths back together, and bites Karina's bottom lip. Kissing the words out of her, the sentences that start in half measures and stifled gasps:

"- so, good, oh. Do - ah, fuck. Oh, god-"

-and vanish somewhere in Irene's mouth.

"-oh, do that again. Oh my god. There. Just - lick- please, keep fucking, exactly that-"

And pay close attention, because here now is how she slips: from the image she maintains for the cameras, the audiences, her admirers, her competition, her detractors, the ones who mean it, the ones who don't mean a damn thing; the girl who shies away from anything overtly sexual, or sensual, or remotely hedonistic; and doesn't act as though she too, just as much as anyone else, needs someone to fuck her stupid - as if it's an eventuality of her own humanity, instead of a concept she's learned to scorn.

Irene picks up on the distinction, all too familiar with the look filling out across Karina’s angelic features.

She ghosts her thumbnail across Karina’s nipple. Tries out: "why don't you make her cum, baby, right here, on the couch.” A look at you, a quick tilt of the chin. Then, her tongue peeking from behind her teeth, and her voice dropping, "just so you can tell Minjeong, or whoever ends up asking - 'you have no idea how good they fuck.'"

And just like that - with Karina’s body laid out beneath Irene’s hands, your mouth - you simply fucking ruin her.

You both do.

Until it's only a mess of whines and shuddering limbs and that lovely look: pure agony. So helpless. So utterly exposed.

Karina hiccups something incoherent - you’re doubling down. You’re working your touches through the torrid mess between her legs. Her pussy is shimmering wet and hot and every bit as pretty as she is. Then, the motion of your tongue, the slow, heavy flick back and forth, relentless and constant - dragging back and forth, keeping her right up, riding the wave. Back and forth, back and forth.

"Oh my fucking god." Karina can only gasp, jaw-slacked open.

Overwhelmed and blissed-out and suddenly awash in this searing and wondrous sensation that the only real way she's able to make sense of is by twisting her hands in your hair and pulling you flush against her cunt while she cums on your lips.

"Ah - you're fucking kidding me. Please, don't stop, please don't-" Karina has her head turned. Voice pitched right into Irene's shoulder. You fuck her on two fingers until she’s got the heel of her palm pressed firm into her forehead, and she’s starting to jerk her hips into your face. Stutter her breathing, her words: “I, I, I- fucking - what the fuck, you’re making me - jesus fucking christ."

Like some delicate and intricate piece of her had just been irreparably snapped. Broken. You hear her expletive-laden screams - and think, better her, than either of you.

And all the way through every last part of it, cresting, waning, quivering, the tremble of her thighs snapped shut against your ears, the grind of her teeth, and each little choked out gasp-

“I'm… fucking cumming.”

Karina spends the entirety of her first orgasm between the two of you, heaving.

The look on her face alone, just from what parts you can see, has your lower gut clenched - it goes from anguished pleasure, mouth pulled wide and brows wound high and tight, all the way to calm and cathartic, the pretty bow of her lips settling into something manic. Eyes softening with a luster, half-closed. A mask, the afterglow: blissed-out and smiling dreamily.

How anyone could say no to a picture like this, you're unsure. Though not particularly willing to test the theory, naturally.

"That was mean," Karina finally huffs, letting a moment pass to even out her breaths. "Both of you, so mean."

"You said to," is all Irene says, amused.

Karina looks down; lifts her head just slightly - as you bring your own mouth off her, catching her glance. Not even your palm and your fingers covered with the evidence - it's her lips that give her away, the swollen, pouting, bright pink lips of her pussy, still radiant with her climax.

She breathes, "god. Irene."

It sounds an awful lot like she's begging for mercy.

Irene hums softly. Leans in for a kiss, with her slender hands cupping Karina's face. Manages to say: "you just look so fucking hot when you're struggling. Can’t fault us for that." She reaches down, and digs her fingernail into the line of Karina's cheek - near the center, just short of the outer curve where her dimple naturally settles. She works her lips to a very soft, "ow."

"Listen," Irene says, "is there anywhere else you've been considering going? Because in the event you're looking to stay for the night-"

Karina replies, "only everywhere I still haven't gone."

Her smile looks honest. Her cunt seeping and slick - there's abundant honesty there, too. And you manage to catch the wicked glint in Irene's eye, like she's a bit obsessed with all that glisten, and what it means - that Karina hasn't felt a real, good dicking in ages. Maybe, probably, never. That she's slept with everyone and filled her quota of playing pretend: of someone just going through the motions, dragging their mouth or tongue or cunt along the most obvious, conventional routes.

It’s written all over her face: the girl between you needs to be touched everywhere, and by someone who knows how. Needs it deeper, more. Has to feel the pressure everywhere all over.

Irene asks her, plainly, “how might we get you moaning like that again, hm? We're both dying to know."

She puts her hand under Karina’s chin, tilts her face towards hers, and kisses her long and deep. Until the both of them are having trouble catching any breath. Until they have to break, only so one can take another in: inhale, exhale, and back in her mouth.

"Maybe." Karina lets go of Irene's lower lip. She sounds almost bashful, "you'll need to let me get my hands on that cock of his. Let me get it inside, want it real fucking deep inside. Tell you if I'm just, you know. Really fucking horny. Or maybe I have some hangups about sex I've never told anyone - and we have to work past that," she takes Irene's mouth into her own again.

It's the short consideration of sure, mm, why not? until the next suggestion is: "he should be on his knees, in bed, those hands around my waist, behind the small of my back and pulling me into every stroke."

“Oh,” Irene agrees, “I love that. Should I play with myself while I watch him fuck you senseless? So hard and rough - you'll start seeing stars. I wanna see him completely railing into your dripping pussy from behind, fucking you so goddamn well until you're screaming so loud it’ll wake the neighbors."

Karina sighs. “Well I’d hate to get all the way here and half-ass it.”

You barely catch it, but there's a lovely note in Karina's voice. It’s saying, and don't you dare treat me like glass, like I’m fragile.

All in all, a filthy, filthy way for a girl with virtually no ill-reputation or ill-gotten gains - no record whatsoever - to describe how she wants you to fuck her, until she’s biting down on the consonants in your name, moaning loud and unmistakably clear, and-

“-sorry, whose cock?” Irene has no intention of letting her off easy.

You draw away from the meat of her thigh, licking your lips clean, and insert mid-conversation with a husky-voiced, "hmm?"

Karina just shoots you a sharp-eyed look. "You heard."

"Only," you play dumb. You run a hand between her legs, using your palm as you go, so you can pull more sound out of her throat; the pleased sighs, a hum. Another. "The part where you want it 'real fucking deep inside,' I think I heard."

"I mean, wouldn't you?" Karina looks satisfied with that. Lets out an easy laugh and turns to Irene. "Besides, I need to know if it’s more than just pretty eyes and a handsome smile that you’ve gotten yourself so hung up on."

The tilt of your fiancée’s brow above her is noticeable and apparent. Not a twinge of surprise; more like recognition. It's Irene looking haughty - beyond the usual - wrapped up in the afterglow. It's the confidence, and not at all humbled by the reality that she is no stranger to fucking a girl this downright gorgeous, knowing the danger inherent in allowing that kind of damage, but if Irene has you figured - she's figured Karina even better: someone willing to push through the burn. Someone, she’s betting, with the capacity to handle pain like it's an artform.

“Karina,” Irene says, and she's really leaning into it, "you really ought to be more careful with that smart-mouth of yours.”

It's the absolute worst way to proposition someone; maybe second only to what Irene whispers straight into her ear:

"If I had to guess, it’s your sweet, pretty face that has everyone bending over backward just to let you fuck them, hmm?”

You’d anticipated this much. You watch how your beautiful wife-to-be eases forward and leaves a slow kiss into Karina's throat, before adding the worst, most awful thing she can manage, “they're eating up this adorable, innocent facade of yours just as soon as you let it slip - letting you straddle their waist, and slide right on, and chase some clout out of oh, she must have this tight little cunt, or how good it would fucking feel to ruin a load just slamming these perfect tits, or. The best of the best, when it comes to pretty things with brains and mouths on 'em: 'fuck, I bet Karina has a face like an angel, she's the kind of girl who probably really, really loves taking it raw - filled and fucked as deep as she can manage'."

“She’s insinuating you’re a slut,” you offer on the next beat, down from between Karina’s knees. “Or something.”

"I put that much together." Karina has that teasingly pragmatic tone in her voice, matching Irene's level. "Your point?"

The joke is that even Irene - after she has the chance to drag her thumb across Karina's lips - looks mildly impressed.

"Sweetheart," the corner of Irene's mouth quips, as if the reason is so, so very obvious, "let’s say you’re just like me, total hypothetical. You're going to have to let us know which part feels better: the praise, or the degradation. I know it’s what makes you tick: all the attention. I know you need it. The same way I know that I could eat this perfect pussy out for hours just to get it slick, and wet, and wanting, and the thing I’m still not sure you’d be ready to learn," she tells her, a light in her stare that flicks upwards, eyes going from Karina's cunt and back to her eyes, her own mouth, and then hers, "the really good sex? Isn’t always pretty."

There isn't room for misunderstanding, let alone any mercy in it. Irene's face is dark; dangerous. Like, seriously. Karina knows better. Everyone does. You know exactly what she's doing. You know what comes next, but this time, you can't shake the feeling like-

Like Karina wants you to look.

She has her fingers on her cunt, spread, presenting - and a small shrug; her response is so fucking coy: "I guess I can't really help it. Besides, it’s common knowledge, isn’t it? The brattiest girls always turn out to be the best fucks. Honest, I get so wet sometimes, you know and then god, I can't think straight.”

She laughs at the premise.

“I dunno, what's a girl to do?"

You can feel the room starting to tighten up, just barely: Karina’s breath still heavy, her chest heaving, the way Irene holds her still, how her arm curls across her stomach, palm flat under her tits; that pose in particular, the power to entice.

And maybe it's the fact Irene is still making eyes at you from Karina's shoulder, the cruel bite to her upper-lip, showing how she's working at the soft skin of her neck - a smirk, before pressing into another kiss there. Your insides are running hot, a shudder racing up your spine. There’s no mistaking what she's getting off on, not just some pretty-as-paint newcomer. There’s your Irene, your fiancée - and her beautiful, adorable, awful little shadow.

So what if, by some pure hypothetical, this all spirals out of control?

You don't know the consequences of taking home what amounts to a coworker and screwing her with a certain reckless abandon. There’s power harassment, a toxic workplace environment, boundary issues, sexual-fraternization. So on, so forth. It's all relative, but watching Irene and Karina make their way up the stairs and admiring the things that only a woman's hips can do, swaying this way, and that - and, following the path from one tight little ass, the other, all the way up their spines - there are no such qualms to contend with, because there's absolutely zero chance that’s the thing that’ll be keeping you up all night.

Irene laments and hopes in the same breath.

She has two pairs of panties in one hand, Karina’s fingers laced into the other, explaining with a quick squeeze, "don't tell me, baby, I already know," a wink, a laugh. She’s such a sweetheart when she means to be; charming, wooing, the coy girl Karina seems to have gotten so drunk off the idea of getting mixed up with. And yeah, when she drops them on the floor, and pushes Karina gently against the wall. Traces her finger up her jaw, then her cheek, and leans into the crook of her neck, into that same spot from earlier; yes, Karina can count herself lucky, or whatever.

"So, don't stop now, baby-" Karina's huffing - the line of her throat so taut and exposed. "You should really fucking try harder if you want me to beg."

"Honey," is how Irene responds, leisurely.

There will come a point in their intimacy, in all things considered, where this act no longer plays itself: Irene, the seductress, and Karina, a deft and innocent prey; of course you, the hammer to a nail, pushed and pulled in one direction, the next. The moments in which her lips leave the crescent of Karina's mouth - hot, hazy, and half-wet with their own spit, their tongues twisting, the muted click, and the telltale wet drag of a body pushing and straining up against her own-

Maybe in her bones, she is begging for it. Maybe, Irene hopes, she'll have to: eyes turned up, watering, tears coming hot, streaming down her flushed cheeks as she cries it from her lungs.

"I wouldn't have you beg for anything."

It's true that Irene is ninety-nine percent grace, one percent child-like wonder; she's easy to read when the mood hits her. The lines of their bodies tousling, twisting and tangling in moon-lit-darkness. There's some irony to it, only a few steps away from the bedroom. At the base of the staircase. In front of the tall windows covered with frost that serve, now, primarily to remind Karina that she's in a part of town she could never afford, in an ostentatious apartment she could only dream of; but most importantly, that the woman in front of her - with her fingers dipping down between her thighs and up again, tracing over her navel and the rise of her hip and her cleavage - can have anyone she likes, without limitation.

Karina can't deny it's everything she wants.

"Karina, I'm curious." You're easing into that spot, where the two of them have coiled themselves up - you’ve got your cock in your hand and you’re stepping out of your pants - in the hallway, the frame of the door, a heavy, long shadow cast: Karina has Irene pinned now, a wrist over her head, against the other side of the wall where the white paintwork is starting to run thin. "Didn't you say something before about how hard you wanted it? Raw, deep, I believe was how you put it."

Irene smirks. It's just the slightest sneer, until she has her hands reaching over the curves of Karina's hips and pulling her fingers into her soft ass. Spreading her cheeks. Touching up, then down, back in the same groove, this slow rhythm that builds - like they were both expecting this exact sequence of events.

You watch Irene whisper something into the girl's ear, and - fuck - the light catches her expression at just the right moment, head lolled to the side.

"Hey," Karina drawls. She lets it come out breathy - on the note, the middle and upper registers of her voice, hitting something near a perfect alto. "How about instead of having some heart-to-heart, and making me out to be some naive-ass kid, you stop asking questions and get to fucking the life out of my little pussy."

She ends it so charming.

“Oh,” you tell her, feeling how fucking drenched she is right at the end of your cock - sliding her slick up and down the length of her cunt, and knowing the feeling will likely stick to your skin and drip to the floor, all of it - "well. If that's all."

Your hand arrives on the lithe stretch of muscle between her waist, right along the ridge of her hip bone, your cock pressing onto the heat of her cunt. Karina turns her head over her shoulder so you can see it all in profile: that pout. That look. That everything.

"There you have it." Irene squeezes the flesh she's got cupped in her palms, drawing circles. "If only everyone else got to hear that sweet, sharp edge you've got underneath, hm?"

Karina opens her mouth with some clear quip to needle, but stops herself, a catch in the center of her throat, her brows shooting up. The pull of her voice is somewhere out and over.

“God, fuck-” she can just manage to sputter. “You’re- ah, ah - your fucking cock-”

Oh, it has you cursing too. You're pushing so far into her tight little cunt - the soft airy moan, that pretty sound, riding back on every last stroke until you've filled her right to the hilt.

“I know, I know - that feels so good, right?” Irene coos.

You just pull her all the way back onto your cock, thrusting deep. Base to tip. So goddamn fucking deep.

Karina probably doesn’t even mean to whimper, but the press of your hips, slowly snapping in and in, has her lungs constricted, as the pressure slides through every hot, slippery inch inside of her - this glide of agonizing intensity.

“I bet you want to just cream all over that cock,” Irene says, fine eyebrows knitting into something like contentment. “All filled up and feeling full, and just fucking letting it go - he’ll take such good care of you. He’ll fuck you so good you won’t ever get that warm, hazy, blissed-out feeling out of your veins ever, ever again, if he has his way-”

All while the head of your cock works over every fucking sensitive part of her, dragging out to thrust all the way into her soft cunt, the round of her ass bouncing back to meet each stroke. Again, and again, until you've worked through that wet stretch of muscle. And the motion isn't exactly elegant. Karina's mouth hangs wide open, catching short breaths that curl inwards when you reach the line of her waist.

“It’s so fucking good,” Karina’s sighing out. She’s all fluster, no bite.

There’s no lack for juxtaposition in the way Irene dotes on her either - these small beguiling bits of praise like, baby, you’re doing so good, these tits of yours are just, you are - just gorgeous. Mouth quirked into a tight grin as her fingers pull and twist around her nipple. The sharp yelp that comes after. The fact that she's kissing the words into her mouth on the very next whimper: “a girl like you needs the time, and patience, and opportunity to have her insides completely, totally, catastrophically ruined.”

Irene had it exactly right on the first read. She’ll say, “I told you so,” when Karina’s washing the cum off her chest or out of her eyelashes in the shower. It’s the praise; it’s the degradation; it’s you leaning down, your hands finding her hair, curling in, and getting her right up against your lips to say it quiet, low, intimate - like a lover, like she hasn't already heard it before, “such a good little slut for me.”

And the girl absolutely fucking keens.

You grip onto her hips. You pull her hair tight. Her throat bobs under your thumb and you can feel the anxiety start to throb, her pulse hot and heavy in her cunt. How it soaks the base of your cock. Jesus, you’ll fuck a load right into her. So easily. Her pussy is so snug, so unbelievably wet. Perfect enough to know if you fuck into her any faster, any harder - it’ll be just that: you'll paint right up to her cervix; you'll fill her to the fucking brim.

"Fuck, Karina, this pussy is such a fucking dream," is what you're making sure she knows, and at that, Karina just finds that bend. Arches more of herself to you, until her ass is slotted into the plane of your stomach, the head of your cock prodding, testing the limit where her cunt is hottest and wettest. "God, this has to feel incredible. Your ass bouncing on my cock" - Karina goes slack on the force, leaning forward - "as I rail your tight little cunt."

If anything, Irene is there to catch Karina's tearful, thankful gaze when she finally starts fucking crying, a litany of yes, fuck yes, yes-yes-right-there, please fuck, and a wet, dazed little "you're goddamn - you're ruining, fucking - fucking, ruining me," every other syllable broken by her shuddering breaths.

"Aw, you're going to cum again, huh? Baby-" Irene's got her head at an angle - their gazes locked, watching - and maybe Irene really gets it: how much of a big, bad crush this gorgeous fucking woman's had on the pair of you all this whole time, with all that faux-romance, and lust, and envy wrapped up inside her - but if she wasn't so obsessed with the shape of Irene's mouth, the contour of her jaw, the lean and sleek lines of her frame and the soft, round swell of her ass - she’d still be left with the shape of your cock, where it’s pounding her apart. Fucking her and fucking her up.

It's more than worth the breath to remind Karina what she came here for. Irene's fingertips brush the line of her lips, part them just so.

“All over him, baby, let him make a mess of you. Just a total fucking mess. We'll fill you up, and fill you up, until your poor, aching pussy is full of cum," and it's probably as well: Karina does what comes most natural to her - with you three, the whole number. Her eyes flutter and go dreamy. There's not even a moment of hesitation:

"-until it's leaking down these fucking thighs-"

"You're doing so good, babe," is your supporting role in all this, murmuring encouragement straight into her ear as you fuck her to pieces. Your breath fans out against her cheek. And then, your hands make a grip under her thighs, holding her steady, making her mouth fall open - this keen, wobbly, vulnerable thing that exposes the naked girl she is, behind all the makeup, and the heels, and her seductive and all-consuming appeal, everything.

“Just so you know: it’s the best fucking part, Karina. I mean, the look on his face.” Irene laughs with her whole body, until the rich, raspy sound of it fills the hall. “The way he bites his lip when he's close, his eyes clenched - and god, I fucking love when he finally cums. It's so good, watching him. Letting him have his way. Feeling his cock throb and spill into you - hot, and still, and just pumping inside you - just so, so good.”

"Fuck, ah-" the little gasp is like she's starting to hyperventilate.

"Because baby,” is the final nail in the coffin, hammering home, “he’s fucking you just like he’d fuck me.”

"Fucking, please, god-."

Irene's hands have her breasts in their grasp and are playing at where she’s sensitive, then pushing into the soft, delicate space beneath, thumbing the indents. "He's so fucking good, isn't he? Are you going to cream and cream all over his hard fucking cock?"

Then - and because it comes so instinctually to her. Because, actually, your Irene has a slight propensity for evil:

She slaps Karina, right across her tits. "Fucking cum on it."

One.

Tugs hard on a nipple. "I swear, every single bit of you is so goddamn beautiful-"

Two.

"That body is built, perfect. So easy to ruin. And god - what a perfect little pussy you've got-"

Three.

Karina struggles to breathe. Her voice is torn, frayed. She barely manages to utter out a very shaky, very desperate, "harder, fuck- you’re fucking making me so- you can, harder-"

Four.

The cruel contact of Irene’s palm pulls this deliciously hedonistic sound in Karina's throat, a loud moan; like she just hit the sweet spot inside that's all her nerves coming alight. Irene plants a quick peck in Karina's hair. Her temples, the ridge of her brows. Slides her thumb across her eyelashes, brushing them clean from whatever tears had sprung free. You don't even want to try, not at that moment, to try and endure the quiver of slippery muscle all over your cock as she shudders into her orgasm. It's simply too fucking much. She's too fucking tight.

"Aw, shh shh, shh," and then Irene's soft hushes are coming down from the other side of her head. Irene kisses her full, straight on her mouth. Karina is shaking, convulsing and caught and fucked from head to toe - and what she needed was someone like the two of you - to watch her cunt swallow your cock like some magnificent and unbelievable sight, taking the whole damn thing. Irene is telling her, "it's okay. You can let it go."

The silhouettes alone. From the end of the hall, and where the afterimage lingers: the smoke-frosted windows, the dim lights, their bare, beautiful forms - this picture that will stick in the center of your head, will probably haunt you-

"God, I can’t, just- ah.”

“Breathe,” Irene says.

"I'll cum again, it's too- I'm so-" Karina can only plead and sigh.

Irene shushes her one more time. "It's a lot. It's alright, baby. He's going to keep fucking you until he's ready to pull out, until he has a whole mess just painted onto your ass, and thighs, and I'm going to make sure that little pussy gets so wrecked, fucked, stretched on every last inch- until the thought of sex hurts, and then we're going to make you cum again, and again- over, and over-"

You're leaning over her, nose buried into the waves of Irene's hair, the curve of Karina's back, and the flush of skin in contrast. That's when you feel the coil in your chest come loose - unspooling, and bursting - when Karina's lids roll into the back of her head and her lips fall open with a pleasured gasp and a stammer, "y-you're, ah, both, you're so, both- oh god."

You're about to just pull her down and absolutely cream her, stuff her full - a mess.

And she wants you to-

"That feels so fucking good," she lets slip out on the cusp of a shiver, just as her inner muscles are spasming, milking your cock with the pressure from one pulse through the next, squeezing.

She’s right. It does. Her, coming undone. You, at wit’s end.

Another breath, and Karina is managing out between these small hiccups - not as much out of breath, just dumbstruck - simply muttering, "I’m cumming, I- oh my god."

You barely manage it; you unbury your cock from her cunt; you’re cumming all over her ass.

A shot of white that streaks right down to her bare-slicked skin, before it gets painted down into the crease of her pussy, all swollen - wrecked and raw.

Just the way it feels on her skin is enough to earn another hushed moan from her, this sweet little whimper as she can hardly stand up straight. She lets her knees buckle, but Irene is right there, to catch. Her eyes are closed, eyelids clenching, as Irene tilts Karina's face her way, to lay one, two, three soft, adoring kisses on her mouth, the angle all wrong.

“Mmm.” The smack of her lips. The pull of whatever breath she still has to give - right out of her heaving chest. "Sore, that, ahhh- um, thank you."

You fiancée wraps a slender hand right around Karina's wrist, and starts whispering to her, unbridled, "just had to. Had to see how you look-"

It’s wicked, for one thing. More than that, it's seamless:

While Irene still has the girl's voice caught in her throat, she reaches around the curve of Karina's hips and drags two fingertips through the puddle of warm cum that sits right at the base of her spine, glistening all over her ass cheeks and inner thighs, slipping and rolling off her cunt, down the center, running in rivulets. Your cum between her fingers is so filthy, so obscene - dripping hot - right off her reddened skin, and Irene can't possibly help it; not after a display as indulgent as that. The trembling that remains in Karina’s thighs does nothing to hide how her legs now jitter and shake under Irene's touch.

“That’s my good girl,” she whispers as her fingertips hover across the apex of her puffy lips. Over and over again, with more force, and more, until you're almost positive it's Karina that leans in a moment later, kissing the rest of her soft assurances right off her tongue.

Listen to her: this incoherent string of words pouring from her mouth, like they can't move fast enough, tripping over each consonant, "are you, oh, oh - oh, fuck."

No one else could make that kind of overstimulation feel so heavenly, you figure, the way she just properly melts. You take a step back, just to let Irene work. Just to watch. To appreciate the craft.

You absolutely get it.

How to touch, how to tease. Firsthand experience has you know she'll ride your cock until you're throbbing and spilling cum and she'll just shh-shh, let you have it - it's okay, sweetie, just let go - until she's rolling her hips just right, or reaching a hand back to massage your balls, or stroking your inner thigh in that exact kind of spot; some method that keeps her all the way on the end of your cock, but not quite off the edge, and your cum leaking down your shaft, spent.

She’ll bite into her smirk. She’ll tie up her hair. She’ll get that serious look on her face because she knows: you’re all hers for the taking.

So she'll sink onto it, again and again, until she's fucking you with the slippery friction only your own spill might provide. "Just a little more," she'll tell you, which is absolutely a lie, "come on, just a bit harder, I'm so close." Irene does this thing - she's had years to refine and perfect - and her voice gets a husky edge to it as her teeth graze the shell of your ear; she makes a small, pained groan into the curl of your hair and breathily hums it: 'I'm almost there.'

Who stands any chance to resist?

And she's always asking you - the same way she's coaxing and promising Karina the world with just the movement of her fingers, this delectable in and out, in and out, pushing that filth up into the red-soaked lips of her pussy - "now, what did I ever do to deserve someone like you?"

Karina blinks, once - a sleepy-lidded draw that leaves her lashes, lush and long, and fanning her flushed cheeks.

The sound between her legs is wet, squelching with your cum, with hers, the barest hint of slapping her tender skin. The beat of Irene's wrist against her thighs - like that's where she needs it most - a deep, primal rhythm, like the last thing she wants is to take a breath. It's fucking hot; her head is tilted, her jaw clenched, and Irene has the tips of her fingers twisted between Karina's legs, swirling your cum right back around in her slick cunt - those plump pussy lips that you've watched stretch out on the first press, the first and the second and the third, as Karina finds what gets her there fast, fast-fast-fastest-

"You can cum for me too, baby."

It’s not a suggestion. There’s nothing but expectation in Irene’s voice.

“Just cum.”

You watch it knock the architecture right out of Karina's legs.

Indulgent, just isn’t quite the right word for it. Careless, reckless, clumsy even-

Look - the tumultuous tangle you three make is all over the fucking place.

One moment, you're at an angle, moreover twisted-limbed with Irene bent over her dresser, then propped up on top of yours the next, your forehead landing against hers, feeling the soft cradle of her shoulders, her legs around you. She has her hands wrapped in Karina's, in that muddled in between: it's a collision of sorts.

There's the chair in the corner of your bedroom that really has only ever known one purpose, a plush rug, all these surfaces, horizontal and vertical for you to take the two most breathtakingly beautiful people in the world on and let your bodies settle into the shape they've needed to ever since your fingertips met Irene's in the cab, ever since she blinked her heavy lashes at you with Karina in-tow, just shy of smiling.

And boy, do you learn that Karina likes to watch herself get fucked in front a mirror. Specifically, the tall one beside Irene’s closet. It's hard to blame her. When you hold her hips tight, and really, truly fuck her, you can’t keep your eyes off how her face twists with the pleasure; or, when you drill the length of your cock into her sopping wet cunt: the wide, glossy rim of her pretty lips pulling back into a wince - and your eyes dropping past the reflection of her shoulders, her collarbones, down to her perfect tits.

The back and forth, the up and down, the way they fucking wobble in their beautifully buxom blur.

Though the eventuality remains unchanged, spread out across your bed. Karina takes a moment, hand pressed to the mattress experimentally like it's all running through her head - this is where Irene gets all that fairy-tale-inspired romance from, really - a quick pause where your future-bride is up on her elbows and staring, watching - your finger sinks in slowly, between where she's soft and warm and wet. She's thinking, you can just read it off her face, 'oh. So that's what you'd do, huh?'

Just for demonstration’s sake, you fingerfuck her in all kinds of ways - show-off and performance and dirty and mind-blowing. Because even better than the whiny, gut-wrenching moan it gets out of Irene, Karina can't get enough of how it’s all presented.

"Ugh," she slides up next to you at the foot of the bed, helping you turn Irene on her side, "why does she have to be so pretty, it's annoying, she's- she's like, made it so fucking far by playing the girl everyone wants to wife, huh?" She's talking directly to you, even while Irene rolls her neck to press her head against the pillow. "Inspirational."

You're drawing circles into her clit. Thumbing the dip, circling in the opposite direction. Karina has her nails biting right into the crease where your knees touch. In tandem, you’ll help your fiancée reach the top of that first wave.

Karina presses, all cheek - a very dry, "cute."

It’s so simple: you eat Irene’s cunt. You hold her down. And Karina slides her tongue lazily against the tight pucker of her ass.

The three of you know she deserves nothing less.

“Oh, christ, you have no idea,” Irene is murmuring into the pillowcase, head tilted at an awkward angle, looking at the wall, almost distant; but her legs are split wide and her hands are reaching forward to rub a circle into your cheek, "you know how sensitive-? Yeah. Like, really, super. Super, super fucking sensitive, okay? So - if you'd keep doing, uh, oh- oh…”

Simultaneous, then slow, and easy - kisses landing right onto Irene's clit. So much so, you can't help but turn a little, smiling right up at your girl as she digs her toes into the duvet and threads a hand into Karina's hair.

The thing is, with Irene: facades fade fast.

Karina gets to measure that fact up close - where the details of Irene's composure are not only sharp, but also readily and openly and emphatically pound to dust by the time the last loose curl of Irene’s hair falls over her collarbone; she ends up on all fours, spread out over Karina - pressed along the length of her stomach, spread over your duvet and fitted sheets, your hand at the base of Irene's waist and tightening into the divots. She’s so small beneath you that when you bury your dick inside her-

“Fuck.” Her cunt is so wet. Her breath uneven - and her words are starting to slur. There’s the gooseflesh on her back that lets you know it’s all already over for her. “Okay,” she tries to steady the ache in her stomach, “okay, okay, just- right there.”

The drag through her pussy is fucking extraordinary. It knocks the wind out of both of you; so soft to the touch, like velvet - she’s unbelievably tight. You pull her hips into you and it opens her right up. Then when you end up balls deep inside your girl a second, third, fourth time:

She simply shudders apart.

Even though you fuck her so slow, so easy - her cunt clenches and squeezes on you like Irene detests the very idea of letting you go. You don’t even need to rail her lithe body to complete and utter ruin just to feel the familiar pent-up tremor starting to build in her muscles, how she rolls her hips back just so-so. How your hands fit that round and pert little ass of hers so well, and when your fingers finally sink in, you’re pulling it all apart to get a good look where your cock shimmers with her slick before disappearing right into her tiny cunt.

Karina mutters something in her ear. It pulls on some thread, somewhere - you feel her wind like a spring, further, and further; your cock edging her so close. The smirk Karina saves for you over your fiancée’s shoulder makes you think she’s figured her out-

“Irene, look-”

Well, at least she’s tuning in on all the right frequencies.

"Aren’t we all about being thorough?" Karina raises a perfectly trimmed brow. She drapes her arm across Irene's neck, their lips sliding together again, and that kiss is drawn-out and languid, albeit needy. "So, say," it gets muffled against the seam of their lips, and comes up, and comes out like a slurry, "are we gonna use everything else too? Your mouth, your perfectly tight ass?"

Irene can hardly muster out, "fuck- fuck- yes, fucking, god," as she takes it, so deep. There’s enough there to make both of you cum, you’re sure.

“Who could’ve guessed - like there’s ever been a more perfect cocktease than bae-fucking-Irene," Karina coos, all lips. She plants a row of kisses along Irene's exposed throat. The tilt of her hips, as she pushes closer - as you press the head of your cock as deep as it can go. "Go on. Cum, baby. Be a good girl, a good hole to fuck, just do it. All over his big fucking cock. Let him fucking have you."

Which is probably about the same time you realize that you, Irene and Karina are all well enroute - becoming this one mind, a single unit. This plurality you know there’s no coming back from.

You look down, with a little more focus, and Irene is being pulled apart in every which way - your cock stretching her out, over and over - Karina’s fingers right under her clit, every circle making her whimper. She’s all sharp edges and delicate angles, but manages to be soft for you in just the right places.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” you tell her, shifting your hips; pulling her ass flush and filling her completely. Your grip tightens on her waist and she doesn’t flinch a bit. "It's so goddamn easy to cum in this needy little pussy of yours. All wet and slick, and, hah- just pulsing-"

Irene lets out this wanton sound, desperate.

“Oh, right there, huh?” Karina asks. It’s not quite mean, but it’s getting there, fast. “Is that how he’s going to make you cum?”

You thrust on the same angle again, the same depth - you’re hitting all her nerve endings, all her sensitive spots. There isn't even room, now, for some imaginary head-to-head, some verbal volley, the banter; what comes forward is her tiny, broken moan.

How many times had Irene done the exact same, after all. Fucked you without holding back? Fucked you over? The flood of sweet-nothings as you started to approach: honey, you're so perfect, we can go slow, you just have to ask, and if you feel uncomfortable at any point, if you want me to stop-

“Just say please, doll,” Karina tells her.

If Irene told you a quarter of what made it out of the side of Karina’s mouth, you’d have never believed it. "I can't wait to feel what that arrogant mouth of yours will do when he cums inside this cute ass-"

You watch Karina spank her. Hard. There’s a red stain in the round of Irene’s cheek, and her skin is so pale that the imprint of all five fingertips looks stark, glaring.

"Just," Karina presses the rest of herself against Irene's skin and steals a quick glance at you - this half-coy smile pulling on one corner of her lips, "thought I'd do that in the name of-"

"Mmph," Irene’s groan is long, loud, "yes. Fuck, yes- please-"

Karina immediately looks away. An effort to hide the smug satisfaction. She fiddles with the auburn locks behind Irene's shoulder.

You’ll finish the sentiment: "-being thorough," and drive your cock to the hilt. Irene collapses forward onto Karina’s lap.

The sound she makes you swear is a sob. See - for Irene, it’s only about getting control in so far as it is about getting off; she’ll take whatever comes her way so long as it’s directly to her benefit - the theatrics of being pinned, the willingness for surrender, for subjugation, for the sake of telling you, yes, push my knees, spread me apart, hold me there; look at the things you do to me - it's the Irene everyone imagines, when they see the dresses, the gltiz, the glamour, just the brief flash of her grin, or the way she holds her fingernail between her teeth. Everyone wants to put her on her heel and feel a bit powerful. To have you watch the supple arc of her neckline bend, to hear the humility slip off her lips: the notion goes beyond simple kink-

It steps out into pure necessity.

She really, really needs it, and it's written into every muscle and tendon - it's on her breath as it shudders through her whole body. The beautiful, harrowing sound. "I love the way you two fuck me," she murmurs, head buried into the crook of Karina's neck. It's the sort of line, coming from someone like her, you know could raise a few blushes - if either of you was still in the business of such things.

"Honey," her voice wavers. Then, it falters: "please."

The desperation is thick, husky, almost. Karina seems like she's breathing her in, nose tucked against Irene's forehead.

You watch how she runs her nails up Irene's sides, a hot whisper sliding over her skin. You feel it, and so does Irene, this white hot pleasure singing up from the tip of her clit and spreading throughout the soft curves, the sensual lines of her body, this tangible current, a hum, a whine. You see her strain the lean stretch of muscle connecting her neck to her shoulder.

Until her face is tucked under Karina’s jaw, with a hand reaching back and hooked around your wrist and keeping you fucking, filling her, your hips drawn tight against hers, like a second home.

In and in and in.

Fucked-out and outright to the extent she goes completely silent. Almost completely still. The moment she cums all over your waist. Mouth hung open, like she’s in pure disbelief.

It doesn’t really matter, how often or how precisely Karina has imagined the whole thing. It's still a fucking revelation the first time she gets to watch Irene cum.

“No way,” she’s almost laughing, holding Irene’s jaw with both hands. “No fucking way. All the times you- what? No. Nuh-uh. You better fucking explain why this face, you- it’s not fair, the perfect face- I swear, even mid-fucking-orgasm, you are such a fucking doll-"

There's the sheer intimacy - Karina holding Irene's lips open, dragging her thumb down along the center. Quiet and sordid curses slipping from her mouth. And the obvious, her free hand already running down the curve of Irene's spine, her ass: all this sensitive-touching, admiring, appreciating-

"Hey," Karina says, voice raspy and drunk on the sex, the premise, "do me a favor, and tell me this feels as amazing as it looks. Or maybe, for once - just for the sake of fucking argument, is it actually better for the both of us, hm?

Her eyes are half-lidded, heavy, sultry. She's arching up into Irene's warmth - until her palms are spread out against her chest, thumb sliding right over everything sensitive, and she leans right to pull the other breast to her lips, and start all over again. It's clear what she means, spreading her legs as far as she can, pinned beneath the orgasm you're still fucking into Irene. As much as her petite frame will allow.

And in case you missed the point:

"So. What are we waiting for," is what she says a breath later, matter-of-fact, not at all expecting denial. “Or am I not as fuckable as our princess here?"

There's so much wet spill around the base of your cock, and the sound Irene's pussy makes when you finally draw free - all her creamy slick mixed into your mess just fucking leaking around your shaft. Karina holds herself open for you like that, spread wide. All your attention to her pink, raw cunt; you slip right inside.

Karina lets her arms go slack on the mattress, her chest shivering, lips locked around Irene’s panting breath.

And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.

(To anyone taking notes - chemistry, by definition, is the sum total of a certain process; where and when energy becomes matter becomes another.

More relevantly perhaps, it is that race and rise you feel inside your chest.

Nothing about the sensation, it seems, is too exclusive either - Irene, and now Karina, the pair of them equally devastating, all over and again. It has you in communication with a different kind of contentment: to fall apart inside their embrace in particular, and kiss them with enough breath and time to waste until the morning.)

“Jesus,” Karina laughs out loud, “you really believe that? You corrupting me?" she makes another scoff, both hands buried somewhere in the pockets of the sweatshirt you've lent her. "At least do me a favor and cut it out with the solemn tone."

You're leaning over your apartment’s balcony, watching an emergency plow make the slowest grind of progress up the road. It's late. And cold. Or actually - it’s early. The sky is the kind of dark midnight navy you see after all the snow and stars have run through the horizon. Time ticks on, and Irene’s inside sound asleep. A woman that small has no right to snore like heavy machinery.

So,

You and Karina happen to be two things at once: very tired, and very awake.

"What I mean is: I'm sure your manager, or your parents - fuck, someone - would fly off the handle," you say, pulling a cigarette from the pack and offer it begrudgingly. She takes the end and slips it between her lips, a little unsure. You then draw a lighter and offer it, too, and Karina puffs with all her strength. She's no expert, but it looks like the end catches and turns bright.

A bit of color.

"My parents?" Karina flouts, sucking at it, pulling deeply from her chest - smoke pours from her nose.

She finishes with a cough. And says again:

"Um. Your girlfriend had her fingers in my ass - your cock down my throat - and we're worrying what my parents might think?"

Well. She's got you on that count.

"Not to mention: who the fuck thinks they're so virtuous-" a small chuckle as she passes it back. The cigarette is lit, bright. You take a drag. Watch her tap her feet on the snow. "That they need to do that to begin with. It's more trouble, telling me what to think and feel, as if that hasn't just the opposite effect."

“Irene’s protective, albeit in her own sorta peculiar way. So, you know, by extension, she worries-" you pull, and exhale, the smoke blowing past Karina. It gets caught in her fringe, in the wisps. You offer it back when you see her shiver. "That some shit happens, after."

"Your concern is heartwarming, truly - if you want to let me think on it, I might go and write a nice little diary entry tonight. It'll have sparkles and glitter - if you're that worried."

Karina reaches in. Lets her fingers graze yours. Her skin is cool.

“Besides, I don’t need a lesson in image from Irene of all people. She’s her; I’m me.”

She holds onto the cigarette between two long acrylic fingernails, tapping the end so the ash flits out onto the ice. You're caught staring, probably - the dark hair framing her face, all messy and soft, falling about her cheekbones. How that pretty pink blush in her skin seems to never go away.

Your eyes drop to where her mouth is red, a bit swollen - well-kissed; it is snowing again, after all. And it’s easy to be kind of transfixed.

"You're not, I dunno, say embarrassed?" you ask, after a beat.

"Nope." Karina swallows. Brings the cigarette to the pucker of her lips again. You watch how she holds the inhale, holds her wrist up and slacked, head tilted back a little. This exaggerated fashion-model exhale follows, all smooth.

“Because I'm not the type.”

The heavy stream of smoke then blown right into your face.

"Really, I think - sorry, I have always wanted to do that. It felt like a movie. Look," she coughs on the next breath. "I get your dilemma. But also, um-"

There are some quiet moments too, here and there: the heat between your thighs, her pressed up close. She smells like Irene's shampoo and bodywash and that just confuses your head some.

"Who’s to say I’m not just looking out for you," you offer. Every good lie is rooted somewhere in the truth.

"Don't bother," her words hit you square on. "It's about getting off right? You invite me to your bed; I’m so starstruck and enchanted by the very concept of it - Irene and her charming, intoxicating husband. Fuck, I dunno - the way the two of you kiss, look, feel: the experience that you will let me be a part of," she stops and makes another face of amusement, so fucking confident, "you let me play, too, just once, and we're all just a little happier. My version."

“We’re not married,” you correct.

“That’s the part you’re hung up on?” Karina leans over, her upper half across the balcony, staring right up at the sky. “Same difference.”

The moon finds her smile bright like nothing else. It's something infectious. Immediately, it reminds you: of Irene.

"Trust me," she goes on to say. The cigarette slips back into the space where you are connected - the lines of her fingers, her knuckles. "I had a wonderful time, but the sun will rise here, and I'm not gonna stick around to blow you while Irene burns three omelets and finds a spot for me in her fucked up game of house or whatever."

She makes you laugh, free and easy, like a gust of cold air. Something genuine and natural. And as the laugh shakes, Karina makes it impossible not to crumble farther. Not to fucking simper there like an idiot.

“I really thought she was going to make me call her mommy or something, I swear-”

"Hey, I'm sure if you had asked." A spark catches you. The flash of her canine, and those eyelashes. “She’d have done you the favor.”

"Oh, shush." The touch of Karina's fingertip against your hand is delicate, careful - unassuming. But, god, everything with her is just the right amount of heat - it melts you; and when it stops, her touch: that feeling is so cold that you just chase her out of impulse.

"What about New Year's?" you ask. There are still boundaries you really shouldn't be crossing, but here you are, straddling yet one more.

Karina's grin cracks like an old fault line. "You're not allowed to ask me out like that," she insists, batting you away - trying her hardest not to lead with the obvious. You look out on the view, watching a guy in a parka trudge over to a garbage can, a handful of newspaper bundles, then a glance back-

The slightest flush has bloomed up Karina’s face, right underneath where the makeup's been rubbed bare. It's utterly irresistible. "Go wake up your fiancée and ask what her New Year's Eve looks like. Doubt it involves me and my dumb friends."

She’s probably right.

"Karina," you start, watching her push open the balcony door with her foot and walk slowly, lazily, back into the apartment. The window rattles, and she looks back over her shoulder. The bob of her ponytail, the sweeping lashes, that perfect slow-burn smile. That’s how you end up with a title as ridiculous and reductive as ‘original visual’ or ‘the human cg’.

"You’re really going to let them in on what we all got up to?"

"Oh," she makes this low, delighted hum - it sounds so dreamy, how her voice gets the richest sort of rasp, "every last detail."

On Monday: the holidays are officially over.

There's a bunch of stuff on the to-do pile. A lot of loose ends you have to clean up, a ton to catch up on. Irene is judiciously ignoring all of it. She's wearing her glasses - the ones with the big round frames that should look entirely obnoxious - which means she's already decided she's not leaving the apartment; Karina's still wrapping the world at large around her finger and has everyone convinced that she's all femme, no fatale; and you - well, you're back to thinking about how to climb the ladder and maybe how to stay there.

You head downtown with a cup of coffee in one hand and a musing mood in the other.

On your phone, some more choice text messages arrive in the late AM: had a great time by the way, stay out of trouble, this sweatshirt is actually just mine now, duh.

The selfie alongside it is pretty suggestive, but just vague enough to flirt with indecency.

She sends one more at lunch where she's gotten out of the shower, or a hot pool, or maybe a long workout - her breasts squeezed between a towel and an arm - she has the camera all zoomed in and framed tight, almost full body. If her intention is to mess with you, that's what she gets. The texts: ah, fuck off and did you have a nice date with your left hand then, thanks for reminding me, the hotel wifi is shit lmao.

The messages just keep on coming and there's really no better descriptor.

And Irene, later, in a way that's neither diplomatic nor nuanced: jesus, don't let her catch you by yourself. For simplicity’s sake. She interprets being alone with a handsome boy as carte blanche to do absolutely whatever she wants and she's vapid that way.

There’s a chance it fizzles out into nothing. An even greater chance it all goes sideways. You'll have to see what becomes of you three.

Okay, right - new year, new you. The resolution for the past couple remains unchanged, and unfulfilled - less takeaways and eating out; more meal prep, less calories, healthier decisions.

Irene has this cute little apron over her sweater that is fixed extra tight, the belt trailing down the tops of her jeans to accentuate her nice round hips and slim waist. She knows the nature of her charm, her sex appeal. How it occurs, almost, as if by accident.

You say something that will get right under her skin like, “looking real domestic, Joohyun,” as she slides a chopped onion from a cutting board to a bowl.

She presses her hips out just a smidge, just enough. Turns a bit as she opens up the fridge, and the smirk she has for you, that sidelong glance-

“Don’t you Joohyun me,” is her lightest rebuke.

She twists her way onto her tiptoes to fetch at the highest shelf. The crochet corner of her sweater rides up a couple of inches, flashing a hint of the fair, bare curve of her lower back. "You can help me by grating the parmesan, hm? Into that," she gestures back at the table, pointing with the bottle of olive oil.

And so you're ten, fifteen minutes into helping with dishes, with the grunt work - with the realization that Irene is going to chop her fucking fingers off if you leave her to it unchecked.

"Actually, here," you say, "can I?"

She tilts her head, skeptical - still, a quick nod of permission - and her slender fingers surrender the knife and wooden chopping board to you. She's tapping away at her phone, finding the playlist you're both always secretly listening to.

"Wow," Irene says, low, as you start dicing mushrooms, a stalk of celery. "So brave. There’s no way I could do that. Is it safe? Are we, like, in nuptial bliss now, do you think? I fancy you, I fancy you-"

It's always this sorta-delicate dance with her: how much should you step up; how much should you put out of hand; how much she accepts versus how she pushes you aside and gets through you all the same. You're too proud, really - both of you - but fuck. She's adorable; the apron adds insult to injury; and it makes the switch in your head simple.

“I always forget how much I love this song,” she’s saying; the rolling pin she’s grabbed is a reasonable surrogate for a mic. When she’s through singing a verse, she shoves it in your face. You don’t know any of the lyrics.

She doesn’t really care.

You have to laugh at everyone who's ever wasted the effort to theorycraft who she is behind the smoky lashes, the lowered chin, the downturned glance. All the characters and archetypes she'll wear and cast off as she needs.

"Here." She sidles up and tucks her hair behind her ear, the side of her hip grinding into your thigh until she’s pressed firm into the line of your leg. Because she needs to tell you that's way too much garlic, and she's not going to kiss you if your breath is trying to kill her first. She uses the word "pungent" a number of times, just for good measure. Go on - she’s murmuring - taste; right off her finger. If anyone caught this you’d be embarrassed for weeks

“I think, definitely, should open a bottle of wine-”

That’s how you earn all the responsibility for getting the both of you fed; she gets distracted looking through the recipe book.

But there's the way she looks up at you from the opposite of the kitchen island, face held up between her hands, fingers folded underneath her chin. "What?" she asks.

She’s totally caught you staring.

The truth is: Irene only looks this gorgeous when it's just her. When she forgets that she's supposed to stick to a script.

You tell her as much when you end up fucking her right there on the counter.

It's so slow, atleast at the onset. Her panties pushed aside, jeans spilling off an ankle - the fucking apron managed to make it to the floor but her sweater got kinda stuck on the way up. So you're reaching through some overpriced fabric blend to pull down the wire of her bra and get your palm where she most prefers it.

"Say it again," Irene sighs into your neck, clutching to the back of your shirt - white-knuckled at the seam. "Come on, you can be so charming when you want something."

"I wouldn’t push your luck," is all you choose to tell her.

You're hitting all the spots she wants you to hit anyway: her pretty pink cunt, slick, all wet for you already. Everything clenching as she arches her back, until she's hanging off the edge of the marble. You find it’s just enough leverage to fill her completely with your cock - stretching her out and open until her thighs bracket around your waist at the perfect angle.

"Or what?" Irene is out of breath, but hardly at a loss for words. "I know. You'll have to remind me how much smaller I am than you, right? So easy to keep pinned."

Well, if you really wanted: "Hah, ah - right." You get right next to her ear, muttering the words as deep as your chest can go - then take hold of her waist to put her in a spot she can't escape. And, by Irene's usual logic, once that happens, that's as much a victory for her as it is for you. You're being compliant, aren't you? The in and out: fucking her, filling her up, pulling your messy cock out of her pussy and slapping her clit just so she can hear how fucking soaked you make her, merely as a reminder-

"I wonder if she was even half as desperate," she moans against your jaw. "Her heart probably stopped the second you, ah - told her, what? About all of this?"

You stop fucking her, halfway.

"I’m sure you wouldn't be referring to Karina, right?" is where you glance at her. “I remember us both agreeing to chalk that up as a total absolute mistake. That was that.”

Irene just swallows, looks off somewhere over your shoulder. No one wears a blush better than her.

But she won't say it. Her honesty is such a privilege. The prodigy-type. Or at least, that's the word Irene chose. Then again, there’s you and your uncanny ability to turn a blind eye.

To the vice, the virtue, and everything in-between.

"So, can I ask," you press your lips together, finding the point of her chin with a gentle tap - you have her looking you straight back at you. The moment could let you drive back inside and fuck her brains right out, right there, like that - right through, instead: you watch her try not to squirm.

The tension in her upper chest, the rising heat that settles between her thighs, her weight struggling where you spread her knees, as far open as her body can allow. “How long exactly," you choose your words, careful and pointed, "are we going to pretend that she isn't texting both of us?"

You bury the question deep where she’s practically molten - hot and wet and so incredibly needy.

You do, again, and again. You pull her against you, watching that pretty brow scrunch and un-scrunch as your cock bathes in that soak. And hell, Karina had sent her a selfie today, is what she's explaining when you slow down enough - a bit of red, on her cheeks and her lips, and a lot of black, all the rest - the part about a midnight flight that's on hold until tomorrow morning. And then another, an hour later. To you both: her tits, the lace lingerie - so heavy, and soft, and easy to see yourself getting lost in-

Irene gasps at how fast you find all her favorite spots, then repeats - twice and again - hey, Karina said you're "such a cutie," and she sees her as the perfect mistress-material, don't you think? Wouldn’t it be ideal? The perfect fantasy? The perfect toy-

Obviously, that is morally bankrupt, even for the two of you. And you’re making sure she hears about it.

You ask her, point-blank: "are you really so selfish? So callous." It's ground out, slowly, against her hip, into her cunt. You've got Irene dripping wet, she's running everywhere, and you're telling her, "and this is your roundabout way of asking me to validate your twisted little ego?"

Don’t get it too confused: Irene lives for this shit; that sharp, hard-hitting tone - it drives her up the fucking wall.

"Duh. Tell me - just a guess," she presses her hands further back, arching into each push. The slim curves of her chest are bouncing, just under her sweater. "You like to feel so guilty and morose but I bet-" she chokes off mid-sentence, you know exactly how, the exact motion that has her wanting. She gets a leg over your shoulder with no effort at all, and your fingers find their place, digging into her hips as she locks into your thrusts.

Like fucking her is the only thing the two of you ever do.

Your whole body buzzes, it hums in resonance with where her gasps conflagrate to moans - you're pulling her slender frame down into every sloppy thrust and she takes you so fucking well.

"I bet it all sounds like, ah, the prettiest fucking music - in your head-"

“Fucking god, Irene-”

“Mhmm?” she fucking coos.

Because the things she wants to hear never actually leave your lips - your girl, fucking relentless.

Because the line between you fucking her and her fucking you becomes less distinct every time she rocks back and takes you deeper. Or when her mouth catches your next kiss a bit lazily. She takes over to swivel and slide her cunt up and around your length. So good that you have to keep her there. Hand locked onto her throat, digging a bruise or two in her collarbones, fucking her senseless against the countertop-

"Irene, fuck.” Your voice comes out thick, like gravel, and practically as an aside, “you’re going to make me-.”

Irene cuts you off, nodding, shh-shh’ing you into silence. “I know, baby. I know.” This total sigh of agreement - a hushed yes, or maybe uttering something she knows will sink right into your core, two words that sound a lot like “good boy.”

What, is that tacit approval? Probably. It’s hard to think straight.

So you bury yourself inside her, instinctually. Irene tips her chin up when she feels you paint her fucking womb. Every throb - with a fistful of her ass and your face pressed against her chest, sucking and biting and marking her anywhere, everywhere - right through her sweater. Fucking her so full that your mess is dribbling out all over the fucking floor, drip, drip, drip, and-

"Hey, I want you to know that I" - she sounds so amused as she cards through your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead - "really couldn’t ever ask anyone except you."

(All is fair in love and war, is an adage Irene takes to its logical extreme, tangled in your sheets or with a dress puddled at her ankles. A silk stocking rolling down her leg, the crochet thrown into some dark corner.

You never say yes. You never really have to.)

This all before setting her down, off the edge, back onto her feet and taking another half-step forward and having the awareness not to completely flatten her under the full weight of your body, so she can run a hand down between the two of you and her fingertips can start gathering up all the cum you've pumped inside her. Irene tells you in her sweetest lilt to pay attention as she leans back up against the counter and gathers as much into her mouth as it will allow-

The sight alone.

When her head tips back, tongue passing over her knuckles, and she swallows-

"You are so," you sigh into her temple. Her cheek. You've settled the rest to the space in between. “Absolutely unbelievable."

She reaches out and trails the tips of her fingers lightly along the rise of your cock - her softness up against your hard lines. Her eyes flash when you twitch on the fucking spot. It's so tender all coming from her.

And there, a moment or two more. You can see it in the way she has her lips tilting, dreamy. You've always known what you were signing up for - how she's thumbing the nape of your neck - what her ideal outcome was, is. There's nothing and no one in front of either of you to bar the way.

You’ll make your vows like any other.

"Well, hey," she finally says, slow and husky and curling toward you with a smug self-satisfaction.

You push her hair behind her ears, the dark brown locks. Some part of you understands, unequivocally, that she is the absolute limit of how far you would go for any other person on the planet. No questions. In a heartbeat, without hesitation.

The kiss to the corner of your jaw is unironically chaste - before she’s telling you, "shouldn’t we get a move on it, chef? There’s food to eat, recipes to ignore; aren’t you fucking famished?"

The bolognese reduces down to a scorch in the cast iron. Too much heat, or too long, you got too preoccupied, who knows - there's a moral lesson to ignore here if you're so inclined. So it ends up being over a tray of sushi delivery that Irene explains to you her working theory like it's high-stakes political intrigue.

"Listen," she's got her chopsticks pointed at you, "for one, Karina, to her core, is a total seductress; and she's told me already, more or less to my face - she gets off on the chase, and hates the other shit. To be involved, or invested."

“Okay then why all the go-around; the wait-and-see; what’s her endgame?”

“What’s anyone’s endgame?” Irene shrugs. “Validation." She slips a tuna roll into her mouth.

"I think you might be projecting."

"Or, I'm simply an extremely empathetic person," her sarcasm hits harder through chewing - she almost gets you, and finishes swallowing to say, "look, she's like us if we were pretending to care, okay? Just more, like - explicit about her lack of intention. So. Doesn’t matter if it's to piss her manager off. Or it's like a revenge-slash-extortion-thing against someone she either had or is having an affair with."

"An affair," you repeat, skeptical.

"It's not like it’s an unheard-of workplace hazard, come on," and then the final confirmation: "she’s just into it because it sounds dirty and sexy, okay, like everything else-"

"And you figure we should be the ones to dole it out."

"What I figure," Irene says, doing that same mental calculus she did the first time: how, where, why - it's clear. A dozen different kinds of naked are an old, tired song by now. "I want us to fuck her. However she likes, whenever she likes, for however long she likes. Let her think she’s won something, or think she has you totally fucking hooked - I don't really care. Because it would be so much more satisfying to hear you tell me about it - because the idea of you two being like that for me. It's," her words pitch up a touch.

"That's the fantasy."

And Irene dives into the details. She explains what it could look like, all the more raunchy and ridiculous. This very specific arrangement. It makes no real sense, the conversation alone, and that, you decide - what can't be rationalized - is how she'll take it: by fucking both of you. That's the objective fact. That's the demand.

You listen until it feels less and less like the decisions have already been made.

“Okay, babe,” she’s presenting her case. “Hear me out.”

And she keeps going until you both can see it materialize: "if Karina thinks she can handle both of us, then both of us it'll be." It’s how her fingers end up buried in your boxers and around the throb of your cock. You hear the gentlest laugh Irene has as you start fucking softly into her grip, and she runs her thumb over your weeping slit until she finds you that much more malleable to the suggestion. Effortless almost, she lures the primal part of you from its confines and teases and prods at its wants and desires. Which is also how some charged vocabulary gets thrown in for good measure. Because no, no, no - she's murmuring into your mouth, tipped back, plush lips right above yours - it's not a cuckquean situation, or an open relationship, or anything like freeuse or whatever else might justify the concern. It's not even cheating, Irene’s explaining, strictly speaking, because who said you and I wouldn’t be doing it together?

(Lying by omission is the story you both live - and the difference: she's pathological. You’re just now getting the hang of it.)

"Fuck," is what you exhale out as she opens her fingers, offering. Her thumb glides across the expanse of your head, a trail of pre-cum drawn underneath a nail. And you know all the things her nails can do - can rip your heartstrings. "I mean. God damn. There has to be, like, terms."

There's still sushi sitting on the coffee table, and Irene is placing these kisses into the slope of your shoulder, your sternum, making a show of the movement, how she's traveling down, downward - to her knees. Where she finds the seat between your thighs and tugs your shorts, the fabric gathered down your leg-

"Let me handle it," she tells you, and there goes the cut of your t-shirt, shoved up to your chest. Her grip runs flat, down from the rise of your hip, fingers wrapping around, touching - the flat of her tongue laving across the tip of your cock until she decides to lower her jaw.

"Just think right now. How I want to fuck her and how I'd want you to fuck her, too-"

Right in her warm, wet little mouth.

Jesus, her tongue too-

She has it gliding up, around and against the swell of the underside. Rolling to where you need it, the places she knows you’ve died before. Lapping up the mess she's already gotten out of you-

Like this, Irene's looking at the way that the idea strikes: you and you and you; the only person in the whole goddamn world that can handle her; you fucking know it too - it's the most perfect, hopeless kind of thing. Like the feeling that catches at the apex of your lungs. It burns in your stomach and grips in your gut. She's gone and cut out the nerves - there's the crown of your cock caught in a velvet grip between those pretty pink lips and her fingers twisting at the bottom.

She breathes deep. Sinks her lips so slowly to the base. Anything, everything you want: to put your hands to the side of her head, to weave your fingers through her hair, and coax her, fuck her mouth like it belongs to you, all slow and hard and measured.

To hear all those wet sounds she makes as she chokes on the end of it. The gags as you force your cock into the back of her throat, holding her head tight, her hair pulled up into a fist, to have that mouth hanging around the length of you, tongue stuck to the bottom of her chin as you move her, your fiancée, your toy. To be looking her in the eye and watching her look the fuck back while she revels in every filthy second of it, not a single damn drop of hesitation or doubt.

"Really think," Irene urges, and she's all innocent when she tips her head to kiss her way up your cock.

She’s trying for some grace or finesse, or both - trying, you think, to make a point; instead, you end up watching her gulp and spit into her palm, just to obscure the sensual curl of her tongue with the sloppy-hard rhythmic stroke of her fist. "How hot it would be if you watched us both choke on your cum. Her face fucked stupid - the perfect little fuckdoll, is that not an image for the ages-"

You get a glimmer of that catlike grin - the one you would kill for a picture of. Something for the wallpaper, or the wallet; you've never met a boundary she hasn't challenged. The most depraved ideas in her head are just, as she is, a masterpiece. And so the answer has never changed - there has never been anything she's not been allowed-

"Trust me baby," she presses her cheek against your shaft. You feel her turn and run that mouth all over. The tip of her nose. Her eyelashes. The wet heat of her breath as she nuzzles the length. "Karina's all ours to share."

Her pout, right there, waiting.

You can't stop yourself from grabbing her face, the crook of her jaw, her neck and the tips of her shoulders. Until it all comes with a good, hard pull. The sound of her mouth on your cock, the blowjob she's been perfecting for years. It's starting to fill up the room, her lips wrapping your shaft - the sound of her being so obedient, the most receptive, sweet, pretty thing: letting you guide her pace until she has a steady motion going. Taking the thick base in her hands and working it over between her fingers. There's only enough room for that before you’re all the way inside her, in and out, again: the tip of your cock brushing over the softest curve of her throat.

When you take her at face value, it's fucking wild: your fiancée kneeling before you. Her chin and neck wet with her effort, lips wrapped so pretty, stuffed, used-

There are no questions. This is simply Irene, doing what she loves.

She pushes a hand between her legs and holds herself together as your hips tilt forward, meeting her halfway-

Just letting you get yourself off in her mouth like it's no big deal. It's her throat - it's her goddamn cunt and ass, and whatever else - because you fucking asked, right? Because you gave her the permission, the choice, the agency.

"Hey, where should I?" you’re muttering as you push the hair out of her face, already half-drunk on her slick lips and realistically only a few seconds away from doing some real damage.

There isn't a need; but you want her to tell you, to use her words. In her mouth, on her face, in her palm, you’ll go without thinking. You’ll cum straight onto your own stomach if it’s what Irene says. Even if she’s acting like you already have.

"Make sure you give her,” is what she garbles out around the hard line of your cock, and it’d be impossible to understand if you didn’t know every nuance to her, if you didn’t - you know - fucking love her. To have and to hold - to hold on tight and for better or worse, and this is pretty much as bad as it gets.

The syllables come in-between hollow breaths, all wet and sticky. When Irene wrenches the fuck out of it, the base of your cock- “hm, that same sort of courtesy when, agh, I'm not around-"

Because the image alone is what matters. There, getting your cock sucked like you've earned the privilege - it doesn't have to be real, it just has to look like it's a new truth to believe in. The little motions in her wrist are just - hah, fucking unreal - and the way she sinks down lower on her knees for each stroke, from base to tip - lips pressing over the knuckles she has wet, and squelching, and twisting up and down and up-

She places a hand under your balls, the gentlest cradle, and something of your restraint finally breaks - it snaps - her insistence is ruthless.

"Yeah, god, okay- I’m just gonna go ahead-"

There are these images in your head, of Irene: the upturned brows, the hollowed cheeks, and that slutty-as-shit smirk - and then of Karina: doing the exact same thing. Fuck, your cock is heavy, absolutely leaking cum: you can feel yourself leaking into the press of her mouth. It fills up her cheeks as she blushes into the fuck. Her lips become flush and go soft against the ridge of your shaft - her jaw slack in anticipation.

"Your fucking mouth, Irene" you breathe out, “I'm going to cum-”

Just at half the sentence, you're there, sunk into your fiancée's throat. Fingers across her ears and into her hair and watching her own hands pulling you, guiding you-

It’s all flexed in your back. Every muscle. Every fiber.

Irene hums onto a simple, satiated note. She always does, when she tastes it. When you dump a hot load of cum all over her tongue and straight into her throat.

(And yes, some might claim this is the death knell for all kinds of reasoning, but you’ll go ahead and admit it’s so, so worth it.)

"How thoughtful," she says, low and slow, once she's through swallowing the entire fucking thing.

The corner of her mouth tilts up. Because you're finished: two steps left in the brain from falling out of consciousness, a mess on the couch. You get to watch as she pulls you into sorts and slots each piece back to where it's meant to sit. The underwear, your pants. It's with such careful attention. Your soft cock gets cleaned with a tissue and wiped dry. A tiny parting kiss for the tip, her mouth full-on puckered, like she's kissing out anything you have left.

Though it's a pleasant daze. She prefers you soft like this, really.

All you have left to say is: "fuck me, baby." It sounds sloppy and open-ended as hell. "I guess I'll leave everything to you."

If that's a cue or sign for the evening, the only right thing: it isn't exactly misinterpreted.

The actual logistics don’t arrive for a handful more weeks. You find it surprising they ever happen at all.

// Karina 10:41 pm > i'm bored.

// Karina 10:42 pm > suggestions?

// 10:49 pm > have you tried looking into an incognito tab?

// Karina 10:58 pm > lol, and what is it i'm supposed to be finding?

// Karina 10:58 pm > help a girl out here.

"Send her a picture of your cock," Irene says, like it isn’t a joke. She looks up from the smutty-dash-of-romance-porn novel she's got herself wrapped in, with her best faux-serious expression. The pair of readers that usually are in her top desk drawer have made a new home perched low on her nose. "God knows she hasn't stopped leering since she found out what I'm marrying into."

"Please," you tell her, because she's full of shit. "I'm not sending her a dick pic."

Your laptop is warm on your thighs as you huddle on your side of the bed. That's the point of balance where it feels like Irene isn't trying to look. Though she clearly is. You flick up through a couple tabs just to drive the point home.

// 11:01 pm > sorry. i'm not in the business of just handing out freebies

// Karina 11:07 pm > really

// Karina 11:07 pm > thought we were making progress here

// 11:11 pm > you're funny

"Ask her if anyone's home with her." Irene dogears the page she’s reading and sets her book down. "Or ask if she's, like, tied up or something. Something edgy."

"Something edgy," you deadpan.

"Do you want me to put the readers away," Irene offers. She's wearing the sort-of smirk you always need to be wary of.

"No," you say. “God, no.”

"Ask her where she keeps her lingerie. Tell her she should be thinking about what it'd look like: all naked except a thong. With the straps digging into her. Tied up all nice and pretty-like."

// 11:13 pm > u alone right now?

"What the fuck?" Irene slugs a pillow at you. "That is the creepiest way you could've sent-"

// Karina 11:13 pm > yeah. i am :/

You and Irene are both struck a little dumb by that.

“Sheesh, she must have had her finger hovering over the reply button.”

"Yeah," you say, eloquent. “Who could blame her, though.”

"Uh-huh." Irene exhales, staring a bit pointedly.

// 11:16 pm > cool if I come over?

// Karina 11:17 pm > and… do what?

Irene nudges you with her heel, a questioning glance: the window has just been left there wide open and hanging. She whispers like Karina can somehow hear her through the phone, "you are terrible at sexting."

“Can you fucking leave it-”

Irene rolls her eyes.

// 11:18 pm > do you need ideas

// Karina 11:19 pm > got a couple. i wouldn't be against hearing something that lets my imagination fill in the gaps though

"Text her that you're into her throat and want her to show you her tits," and Irene actually cracks a laugh as she has the audacity to make the request. She's in good form this evening; in nothing but her favorite silk camisole - the navy blue one, which pairs great with all 5’2” of the rest of her. Like the soft curves she wears and everything else isn't bad for your heart. "Seriously, I want you to-"

"How am I supposed to end it?" You ask. The tone is purely sardonic. "Babe. Baby. My future wife. Tell me. You do realize you're basically asking me to bait her, right?"

Someone will eventually put their cards on the table, and Karina, Irene, and ostensibly you will realize you’re all currently having a mental break from reality. Or something along those lines. "I mean. Could that really be a negative," she wonders with an eyebrow quirked and another gesture of her arm like she wants to showcase the night sky beyond the bedroom windows.

"How, what - babe."

"You could promise to let her sit on it."

"Is the cockslut routine an act? Like," you lower your volume, "do you really have a playbook, here?"

"So mean." Irene reaches a hand over. She has her head propped on an elbow, the rest of her sprawled and comfortably positioned on the bed. And you wonder why the fuck you feel compelled to argue a point that so obviously has already been lost. "Just go fuck her already, god damn, I dunno."

Right. So. This was the part that was kind of inevitable - and Irene's impatience aside, you probably were about to win a lottery when you showed up at her door - that golden little interaction: "hey it's me, your rival at work's future ex-husband, I guess - I'm so horny and I think you're so beautiful and wouldn't it be so crazy if we, like, boned, haha, what?"

"Just- have sex. Tell me about it after."

The novel beckons Irene back toward it. She makes herself the picture of someone perfectly comfortable with you walking right into the next most uncomfortable predicament.

The sigh. That long, heavy thing. A leadup you do so often.

The simple idea of sending Karina that sort of message sends heat, low - just under the band of your sweatpants, and right where you've got yourself in the palm of your hand and you're already wondering how this is the result, why your cock is coming to a rise already - god damn - why every thought of Karina's face, and Karina's ass, and Karina's everything, every moment her lip is caught in between those teeth is becoming impossible not to touch. "Okay," you huff, "fine. I'm getting up, I'm going now- I mean it, right now, just give me a minute, I am putting my clothes on."

"Wait," and she's saying, "wait. Wait."

And when you turn around, Irene has this cat-that-ate-the-canary grin all stretched on the canvas of her face. She takes off her readers - her elbows thrown into her lap as she goes to the very edge of the mattress, pulling your shoulders for balance. "Babe-"

"Mm."

Irene likes to get you at a low simmer. The way she runs her thumb pad along your bottom lip. And all those questions - a look into her eyes - it's hard not to fold or break - when she's holding onto that sort of expression, unwavering; no matter how her mouth seems to get soft and curious.

Her lips move onto yours, asking - a push. And your eyes - a brush against a shoulder and you've already gone a whole mile from anywhere decent. There's the touch of her tongue between your parted mouths.

"You'll be good right?"

"I mean, sure," is what you manage, watching her lips close.

"You'll fucking wreck her, and do it exactly how she needs it done." And her brow, knit. She can tell your brain is busy jumping ahead to a hundred different scenarios. "Stop worrying."

There's a brief nod of reassurance. Her fingertips dust down your chest and the rest of the way. You hear Irene tell you to-

"And give her an extra hello from me."

"Okay, I love you, but also you're insane, like certifiable."

"Shush, I know you," and Irene gives your hair a little tousle before pushing you out the door.

You're standing there at the front door of Karina's apartment a little after midnight, bathed in dim, orange wicked fluorescence. Like it knows your sins - past, present and future. There's no obvious answer when you go knocking, and for a half-moment, you're thinking, okay, it's alright, this is how I let someone down easy-

Until she answers and leans out, pulling open the door. It takes you by surprise-

"Well, I'd normally let you in," you hear Karina say, and a smug smile starts to cross her face, "but..."

It's about the degree to which she looks hot and a little off kilter in this tight t-shirt - a snug pair of panties around the sway of her hips - that almost sends you spinning. There's not an ounce of self-consciousness; it's like a punch to the gut.

"Aeri's date went south and she's drunk. She's passed out on her bed, like, right now, I don't think-"

There's no bra. It's hard not to get fixated on every detail. Like her nipples, practically standing out. You have an irrational desire for her to take a step back, further into the room, further out of your vision's reach-

"Uhh," you croak. And you do have the mental faculties for, uh. For telling her. "Maybe, you know, later, could be better, yeah, maybe call me."

Though, unfortunately, the suggestion falls short on delivery.

"No, no." Karina has her hands searching up and underneath your sweater. Her fingers dance flat up, right over your stomach - teasing as she hikes you back inside. Right past the threshold. Your mouth is half-caught and stupid under her, the gentle hum and pressure on her lips. "It means we need to be quiet."

She drags you another step forward, with just the hot flash of her gaze.

"Shut the door behind you?"

"Locking it too," you tell her.

The laugh she makes into it, this one little scoff - it's an acknowledgment: an agreement. It's one of the worst fucking sounds, and the whole damn thing gets to you. Like her ass wasn't the perfect fit for the palm of your hands- like you don't want to trace your fingers under the elastic of her panties.

As if it wasn't fucking clear enough. It's the tongue in your mouth and the hands in her hair. She's kissing you soft, she's kissing you deep; her weight rests and pulls back with each swell of your ribs, pushing her fingertips down until they're skating, slow, low into the grooves of your spine. Like she's getting familiar with you again.

"Okay," you breathe. She laughs on your lips and presses forward - pulls you back, farther- "uhh. Okay."

She must see the confliction you're in-

"Hey." Karina keeps going until you've got her backed against a wall, until your thigh has pressed into the crux of hers and your hand is in her shirt. You don't miss how she lets her head tilt back when her eyes shut. It's her. There's no disputing the reality. "Whatever you want to do to me. That is all I've been thinking about. Do it."

"I- don't really-"

She makes a decent show of crossing her wrists and tugging her shirt right over her head. Tosses it someplace safe enough. "So are you just gonna leave me in suspense, or do you need my explicit, enthusiastic permission?"

Your lips draw themselves a blank on anything useful, while your heart rate accelerates.

"Here try this: you’re going to fuck me until I beg you to stop. Then you’re going to fuck me some more. Or whatever- then we can go somewhere, I don't care," she offers with a half-whisper. In all her goddamned glory - barefoot, almost bare chested - it's not like it could be any other thing.

You’re not exactly supposed to end up on your knees for this.

This isn't quite how you pictured-

Okay, fuck, Karina's making the prettiest noises where her spine is curling up against the wall; those sounds you couldn't even make up. How it feels like the easiest damn thing, because there isn't a question to why. Every inch of you is pressed to every inch of her. You know what you'll taste on your tongue, which of these breasts belongs in your palm and the fingerprints in the dips of her waist - her lips on the curve of your jaw - every mark and bruise on her skin, every hint of it is real; it's fucking you up because you're kissing the woman that Irene picked, the woman you met - it's how you pull yourself away-

Karina, for the longest few seconds, is shocked into stillness.

Because you could, of course, decide to give this one last shot, your head between her thighs and eat her out until she was so fucking wet your cock wouldn’t even enter the equation. This is not actually a new idea; the possibility has run through her mind enough times already.

"Yeah. That would work."

Like it's no big deal-

"Do you need instructions? I can get a bit graphic."

"Actually, you know what?" you choke a little, and - "trust me."

You stand straight up for a moment, a second, an extra fraction. You slip your cock inside her hot cunt, and, yeah. She collapses right into you. You’re holding up her just enough to fuck into - she's starting to breathe deeper, harder; you've got her pinned like that - a hand on her neck, fingers sinking into everywhere she's softest: her tits, her ass, her waist, her throat, and there is nothing that isn't some version of fucking glorious about Karina's weight grinding, heavy onto the tip and onto the ridge and down the thickest length of you-

And her face, jesus christ, her fine brows upturned, the tears heavy in her dark lashes, the little gasping-sobbing sounds that spill across her wobbling lips - this is the both the easiest and the hardest part: seeing her get absolutely fucking ruined-

(You know, god help you.)

Irene doesn't even have to ask. There are hickies and bruises shadowing in on your neck, your chest - these marks you never remember Karina giving you, and a ton of scratches all up your back.

"You know I was going to offer to make you breakfast," Irene says, smug, "but I'm wondering if Karina got to you first."

"What the hell do you think?" you say, dumb.

There are eggs burning on a skillet that are never going to be salvageable, no matter what Irene says. She has no respect for the process. And her voice is full of that infuriating smile: "was it everything you hoped?"

"God," you mutter, trying to mask the embarrassed laughter in your words. You can hardly move an inch on her behalf.

"At least tell me something fun, you insufferable tease," she presses her nose into your hair and tickles the spot on your side, just to be a pest.

You lay it all out for her. Everything she wants to hear.

Surprisingly, there’s still plenty to learn about each other; days to weeks to months. The first real thaw of the year comes, and you’re quick to fall into this odd rhythm.

Karina won't actually join Irene on set or production very often - too much heat. It shouldn’t have taken so long to figure out the two don’t belong in the same room together, and if they’d asked you, they’d know - but no one ever really does ask you. However she does spend more and more time around the apartment. In and out of your personal spaces. And maybe a bit in between, or a little underneath too: how she seems to slot herself right into every possible fold whenever Irene’s away.

Always traveling for this reason or that.

And god, the perfect powder keg Karina is - ticking, short-fused, all ready to explode. It’s ironic, you think, she’s drawn to scandal the way Irene will do anything to avoid it, and here, she's found her ultimate indulgence.

The quick lay, the time and place you know you can be patient in pulling her apart, the everything in between.

In fact, you’ve taken to calling her "babe" just so she doesn’t think twice when she gets your cum pooling deep in her cunt, all hot and sopping. Looking like the picture-perfect centerfold. The fucked-dumb face - all twisted in your grip, flushed-red; and the musky scent of sex; the noises and her presence alone. You fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her, rubbing a thumb across where the mascara runs thick.

To be the gorgeous girl, cock-drunk and fucked-out in your lap - so simple - so natural: Karina finds her way over more often than not.

After your shower, after your nap; your work, the bar - Karina’s never more than a text away. And you'll keep a hand around her waist as she stands around in the kitchen, stealing Irene’s leftovers out of the fridge. Karina ends up straddling your thigh right there at the breakfast table, holding onto the wood for support as she cums all over you.

The long and short of it is:

She's fucking you. She's fucking your fiancée. She sees no problem in having her cake and eating it too. The only caveat is: Karina thinks neither of you know what's actually going on.

“You gonna say hi to Irene for me?" she's teasing one day, snapping her bra back into place. The t-shirt pulled over all that glossy-dark hair, the shimmy of her hips just to get back into the world's tightest jeans. She presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. It's such a stark, clinical goodbye - ending with a flick of a thumb across a screen. "And oh, let her know if she ever wants me to teach her a trick or two. Anytime."

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that.”

Karina does the most insipid thing. She fucking winks. “I’m sure she would.”

"Uh, are you kidding me?" you ask Irene.

It's late one night, and Irene is standing in the kitchen in her pajamas with a welt the shape of Karina’s lips kissed right into her jaw. A couple drinks in your system have given you both a false sense of clarity, and also an ill-timed desire to solve all your goddamn problems. You lower your voice. "In her ass?"

Irene has that all-triumphant and dopey grin that makes your heart ache for her. There's a soft curl of her hair loose, thrown across a shoulder. "I’m serious, pull her hair right, hold her wrists until her back has to be arched. Pin her to the bed," she continues to illustrate, "it's all in the finer points of how much. Tell her to count, even. I'm not joking-"

She takes another spoonful of yogurt between her lips.

"-she'll let you do anything, promise."

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know.” Irene wags the spoon at you. “It’s great.”

It's not only the hypothetical-homewrecking that gets Karina so torridly wet for the whole affair; when she's pinned beneath you with her legs spread and her toes pointed skyward, or perhaps later - the same day even - riding Irene's face in a locked dressing room and crying out - "ah, hah, jesus, please-"

In her head, she has you both at her beck and call. Forget semantics - Karina is a fool to her own illusion. Because in her head, not only has she managed to go toe to toe with the industry's reigning monarch, she’s managed to win.

You don’t exactly know how Karina ever intends to keep it casual. Because things are damn near constant:

It’s a weeknight, and the moon is high above the windows, casting a crisp rectangle onto the hardwood; it doesn’t actually matter, as far as Karina is concerned.

Irene’s on television again, the sequin in her dress clinging tight, and she’s found the gaze that never breaks for the cameras. Found the flash of her most practiced smile - that little chime of laughter she has that sounds like striking pure gold.

Then Karina: sitting cross-legged at the very end of the sofa. One leg thrown over your thigh, she’s got these nylons on her feet and she’s poking a toe into your ribs. "Isn't she stunning," you hear her muttering, "honestly. Doesn't it, like, turn you the fuck on?"

Her foot grazes your lap, all casual at first; the impossibly soft-curved heel of her sole. There are so many ways she'd prefer to pass the time and they almost all involve getting under your skin, if not just outright getting into your pants.

“Elaborate.”

"I mean listen, in your case, just knowing your fiancée is up there looking like a total angel and at the same time, thinking about you; how she’s got to be considering every which way she’ll unwind just after the showcase - at least, that’s what I’d be doing." She licks her lips, teeth. "Hell, I’m only imagining how pretty her eyes are when she can barely keep them open, and that’s enough to ruin my panties."

"Are you really."

She shifts her weight. Puts that ankle to good use. Rubbing it into the crease between your legs. "Tell me," her lips curl. She’s looking at you dead-on. "How does she usually prefer it, hm?”

Like a wildcat, you suppose, your Irene - a pretty, little predator. You could tell Karina everything, but you don’t. Instead you let her wander into the lair of her own making. Her eyes: light and curious; it’s written in the lines of her face how she's picturing it all so plainly.

“I’d guess she lets you go slow. Or hard. Or maybe a little rough and then you make her cum, and then maybe, just maybe, after the teasing; after the edging, I guess, that's when she comes in hot. I would hope."

Karina twists her foot around, swings her weight onto your lap, and sucks in a sharp breath when you reach out and grip the lean lines of her hips. It’s as easy to hold her still as it'd be to drag her across the couch and under the rest of your body, fuck the goddamn tension until there was no longer any room left for the pretty smirk in her lips. And her gasp would probably sound a hell of a lot better - than all the needling quips - a much louder and much less-pretend whine when you could throw those thighs open and really pound her wet, aching little cunt-

“Easy,” she chides when you end up taking two handfuls of her chest. "Shouldn’t you be more supportive? For god’s sake, it’s your fiancée’s moment in the spotlight, you know-"

There’s nothing stopping you from popping off the buttons of her dress, one by one by one - and kiss right there, into the swell. Your voice feels all the rougher when you respond, "and what a moment."

Her fingertips skim over the places she's been kissing you, where she's been marking and claiming and trying to, at least, to stamp you like her personal property - when the look is that serious. All cold-burn. Right through to the bone.

“So.”

You can feel her touching into your pants. The heat in her soft, silky thighs; she sits above you, keeping a leg on each side. A part of you feels trapped; another is confused why you aren't turning the tables right now - flip her and ride out her cunt on the couch. Some passing thought, or just a fraction, the only one that matters in that particular instant, wonders what Irene would do, will do - has done - in your situation. How her hips would roll. How Karina’s moan might sound when she dug a nail right into a sweet spot.

You push Karina's skirt a little farther up her body and try to gauge the moment she's finally decided she doesn't mind.

“How about you keep your eyes on her, and I'll suck your cock while you do," ends up being the short and not-so-sweet of it all. “-or maybe you can get off between my tits.”

She wraps those fingers around your base and pulls gently. It's not a decision, but merely a continuation, a culmination: a gesture made entirely to pull the response: the hitch to the throat. Her nails skim that ridgeline as her eyes track across the cut of your features. It makes you groan into her next kiss, to say, "if you wanted it so bad, babe, you could’ve just said. Would save us a lot time-"

"Are you complaining?" she husks, pulling your pants down your thighs. Your cock is in her hands and she smiles like a cat - licks her teeth when it twitches at just the slightest touch. "Yeah, I didn't think so," is how the breathless laugh leaves her lips.

You catch the quirk of her brows, her tone: straight-up, like nothing. You’re almost buying into that until she's got your shirt on the floor, those lips of hers in the divot of your collarbone, and her tits wrapped around the base of your cock, and, well, fuck-

She actually wastes no time - none at all. A couple feet away, Irene covers her laugh with one hand. There's a brass award in her other. And the television casts this soft, pale glow.

Karina tips her head, and a curtain of her dark, silken hair spills across the ridge of her breast. She runs those big eyes over you, all wide and round and vaguely-deviant. There's the perfect amount of motion, of squeeze, just a light-bit of pressure, and she's got a face smug-arrogant in an instant, knowing. Fuck, her hands on either side start pushing into the line of her cleavage as she bounces and rocks and draws every inch of your cock up through her soft tits and back down again.

"Fuck," is the harshest exhale she's ever dragged out from you.

She hums a low sound, all self-satisfied when it's her own namesake: your body wants her, like you know the full weight of her needs, your touch, how badly she's fucking craving to get off and still not admitting to anyone it might be more than sex. Like it's really as easy as her next breath, the flutter of her lashes: Karina wants your eyes, the weight of your attention and she's not going to beg for a fucking thing. The feeling, you think, is mutual.

"Irene," she says, her smile as open as it could ever get. "She's just so gorgeous, right?"

On one hand, she’s speaking between the lines. A perfect tincture of deceit - the bawdiness-by-nature: watch me, look at me - is what she might as well say - look what I can fucking do, the whole lewd display. And, god, how she knows every way to make a guy want it, like she wants you to remember it.

Because on the other, the movement is so, so direct.

Karina twists herself in an upward tilt, just an easy, practiced thing; she lets her tits spill around your cock and through her fingers, full and soft - and her lips part, mouth slacking alongside yours, matching the sounds out your chest with her own. Like she knows exactly which slide of slippery friction will make you moan, or which pull and drag will send your teeth straight into your lip.

"Isn't it crazy," she lolls her head a little, letting her own saliva drip down the center, onto your weeping slit. "How much I want your cum filling my cunt, even knowing she's the one you'd rather put the ring on," the drag and drag and drag - her tits are fucking incredible, and she knows it. She pushes up with her fingers and gives you a long draw right through the press, right where the nerve endings run electric, right where she keeps moving, up and down, and up and down-

“-it must be hard, I mean, jesus christ. Here I am, needy and hot. Begging you to wreck me and my only sin, hm - the sin of being second best, right-"

"Holy fuck, you're-"

"Obsessed," she says, and drops her tits against your waist again. "I know, I know. How could I not be?"

You're left muttering into the titfuck alone, watching her rub your precum up between their soft shape, feeling the slight give, how her skin goes warm. The act itself: such a simple-thing-bordering-on-the-absurd that you notice how you coil and flex beneath her curves, how she feels so soft and warm. The slight pucker of her lips every time your cock escapes her cleavage does little to help. It's probably the fault of the brain-fuck but the wet of her mouth is practically everywhere you look. You could eat her alive right here, spread her legs on the coffee table and finish with a bit of screaming, groaning and tearing, and no one would ever stop you.

But instead,

"-it's a good color on her, really; but then every color is a good color on her, isn't it so unfair?" She's taking your cock into her tits, deeper on every rock forward and back, holding them close - a gentle lock of those long manicured fingers keeping it all together. "Even wearing no color at all; you must just love how all the freckles are so easy to see," she murmurs, squeezing tight. The sound is wet, messy. A filthy chorus between her dirty words and the dirtier action, and just that glimpse of friction when she strokes down again is maddening. You're all slippery. So sticky-slick, so tight.

Of course there's not a fucking inch of a reaction out of her; you want to get off so bad-

"You could close your eyes," she tells you. "She would still be there. The sound of her laughter. The image. In that dress or not," and her mouth furls into a half-smile before she pauses. Reaches down, pulls her tits around you impossibly tight. "Just so damn pretty-"

You cum just like that:

"Babe," is what you let her have. The soft, undercurrent hiss. "Fuck."

You shoot clean up, all thick, hot splatter.

Well, mostly up - along the expanse of her neck and throat, coating where her breasts sit so pretty against the lines of your thighs. Across her sternum and the hollow of her neck - her body's covered in your shared mess: slick-filthy-hot, all strewn across her perfect tits.

"Jesus, Karina, baby you’re-"

"Completely covered in you." She's still smiling. That deep-cut and perfectly symmetrical curl of her lips. The gorgeous fucking shade, and her chin, how her cheeks flush, just a little - they've always turned pink in the most specific places when she gets fucking cum-soaked. “I know, just look.”

And her hands slide across her chest, trailing a path through the thick of your release, spreading the glaze all down her front. Making it messy, making the exact look a guy sees once and is driven to the ends of his sanity - just to spill his load out onto her. To get her all used, and trussed up: just how she likes.

(Sanity is being generous, considering.)

You can't do anything other than what's expected: take her up in a kiss, breathe into the mess you've made on her skin. The gasp is full, surprised - just enough, maybe, to count as genuine.

Such a mess - she murmurs - um, come on then, you can do a girl a favor. Bath bomb, bath towel, bath robe - and really it doesn't have to be a suggestion.

You’ll pin her down and fuck her right over the lip of the tub if that’s what she really wants. Just being in her company is indulgent and excessive and begging you to make a terrible habit of it. Have some self–restraint, she has this tone in her voice sounding more and more like a dare. There's just enough there in her hands: one reaching for you and the other reaching into the porcelain, swirling up the lather - and that look on her face, as if to say, can't believe you have me waiting, like some desperate, depraved pervert - only it’s more explicit than that. Only it feels worse - and her mouth is moving again, speaking into the air that already feels stifling hot, words cutting through the steam: you're not very nice, I mean really, it should come as no surprise how she turns out, having this jerk for a fucking boyfriend-

Nevermind. Not a dare, it's a challenge. She was right the first day you undressed her, the brattiest girls always have the worst kinds of fantasies, the darkest little tendrils of self-destruction. How she's laying there, asking and telling, pushing and pulling; and how she thinks she's so clever too.

Though that is no reason, she laughs, for you to think she won't love having her pretty cunt cockwarmed and spoiled for an evening or more. - And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.

(Really, to Irene’s credit, she had Karina pegged right from the jump. A character study in, well, herself.

She's seen as an ingénue by the press, and an outright savant to the executives. They know her as the obvious successor. They give her the runway, they watch the leggy-girl-turn, the model-posture, chin held high and aloof, looking down at the gathered throngs of photographers.

The protégé, the goddamn heir-apparent:

But her favorite game - that bit of innocence served on a platter, ingenuous when it comes to spinning a flaw to gold, and the deception too - Karina loves and loathes every second she spends upstage from Irene's own, hectic, international production. Because if anyone asks her, that girl would claim it's never been a competition in the first place.

So you see, if you and yours have both decided to ruin her-

It is a disaster-in-the-making, isn’t it.)

#karina smut #irene smut #aespa smut #red velvet smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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geezmarty · 10 months

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with twitter’s situation being what it is I’m a bit uncertain about what the future holds for my account there (which had about 28k followers that I painstakingly gathered over the course of many many years. that’s a lot of audience to potentially lose for someone who relies entirely on their socials for their job).

so here’s a bit of self promo 😭 I’m Marty, an italian lesbian living in the UK. You might’ve seen some of my stuff around. I make gay comics, TTRPG illos, and more often than not I’m available for commissions (not now but soon enough I’ll have to reopen again 💝)

I’ve been too busy with work but I want to go back to posting more when I can!! If you’ve ever enjoyed anything I make, it would mean the world to me if you could boost this.

Thank you so much for your support over the years and let’s keep going!! 💜

#disco elysium #remisa #dimension 20 #dragon age #carmilla #hope people don't mind me posting in the tags #it's just this once I promise (prayer emoji)

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nnon0 · 1 month

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J.Jaehyun Fic Recommendations

For all the Jae lovers :)

🫀- favorites

(🫀) Stars, moons and other celestial bodies @kiachiako

WC: 26.7k Brother!Taeyong Retro-themed AU

With your fizzy drinks and vinyls in tow, you’re determined to make the most of your summer before the start of your first year at university. Everything’s seemingly perfect; humid afternoons with your closest friends, late-night mixers at your local alumnis' estates, and sleeping in to ungodly hours. What you didn’t predict, however, was your brother making the early trip home to surprise you with a certain someone — namely, his best friend since childhood — following closely behind. His unexpected appearance throws you off, and suddenly, your summer is filled to the brim with his presence. You’re finally able to taste the idea of mature love, but is it really all that it’s made out to be?

FIVE PLUS ONE @ppangjae

WC: 28.8k+ Chef!Jaehyun, enemies to lovers

Five times world-renowned chef Jeong Jaehyun tried to end your journey to be a chef because you weren’t ‘qualified enough to be a chef’ and that one time you proved him wrong.

(🫀) King Of the Streets @anashins

WC: 28k Streetracer!jaehyun x Journalist!reader

The moment you find yourself hiding in the backseat of a sports car that's illegally racing through the city, you just know this story will finally catapult you to the top of your journalism career. But there are a few things you haven't reckoned: How personal this story will eventually turn - and the driver's sheer insatiable craving for lollipops. And for you.

The V Week Spy @smileysuh

WC: 20.1k Frat!au Jaehyun x afab!reader

Every year, seven days before Valentines day, sororities and frats are paired together, and eligible himbos, hoes, bimbos and fuckboys alike volunteer to be raffled for a chance to become the year’s V Week Spy. V Week is open season, with outings and parties tailored to be the perfect excuse for sexscapades, with the knowledge than 1 boy and 1 girl are undercover, grading sexual performances. Once the week is over, at the annual Valentines Day Party, the evaluations are presented- It’s a bad time to be unsure about someone’s feelings towards you, and an even worse time to fall in love.

(🫀)HEARTS ARE WON AT PRACTICE @angelwonie

WC:21.2k Football player!Jaehyun , Enemies to friends to lovers

jung jaehyun is an obnoxious, way too handsome footballer whom you have no intention of getting to know. at least until a series of coincidences forces you to spend time with him, and you realize there might be more to him than what meets the eye.

Try Again @gimmehyuck

WC: 19.8k Idol!jaehyun x Teacher!reader

jaehyun remembers the night he met you, and even after that one night he often thought of you and wished things would have been different, but by a weird twist of fate he gets to see you again, except this time... you're not alone.

Runway @wincore

WC: 18.7k Model!jaehyun x Fashion designer!reader

there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts.

Christmas Puppy @smileysuh

WC: 11k Best friends brother/boy next door Jaehyun

“God, you’re so jealous,” you laugh. Your best friend’s brother doesn’t usually act this way, at his frat, everyone knows you’re his, no one would dare come near you- but here, in your hometown, surrounded by past crushes and would be romancables, it’s open season, and it’s clear that it’s making Jaehyun uncomfortable.

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tyrannosaurus-maxy · 5 months

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State of the F1 RPF Fandom on AO3 (2023 update)

This is part of my F1 RPF Analysis based on a dataset of the almost 28k AO3 F1 Fics pulled on 1 Dec 2023. Fics were analysed based on date of last update.

Feel free to follow the tag #f1 rpf analysis for more, and let me know what else you’d like to see!

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 rpf analysis #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #lando norris #pierre gasly #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #alex albon #george russell #carlos sainz #oscar piastri #fernando alonso #yuki tsunoda #kimi raikkonen

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aethon-recs · 11 days

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Themed Rec List | Tomarrymort Recs by Horcrux ⚡👑🏆🔒💍

I wanted to put together a rec list of Harry/Tom fics with a core focus on horcruxes outside of Diary Tom (the most popular horcrux) and Voldemort himself. Please enjoy these 22 fics that feature one of Tom's horcruxes and their special relationship with Harry.

There’s a ton of interesting variation that can be explored within a Harry and horcrux Tom ship — from where the horcruxes are located and when Harry can conceivably meet them in canon (for example, the Cup horcrux is harder to access than the others); to what age they were made by Voldemort and how that would shape their personalities and interactions with Harry; to the different magical properties that they might embody, depending on the vessel that was chosen.

Finally, it looks like Scarcrux and Locket are the most popular choices (after Diary Tom), and we absolutely need more Cup horcrux fics!

⚡ Scarcrux

Amensalism by @cindle-writes (E, 6k, complete)

Scarcrux becomes sentient after the encounter in the Ministry in Harry's 5th year and takes Harry for an adventure.

Bolide by @vdoshu (T, 3k, complete)

On October 31, 1981, a tiny piece of soul attaches himself to Harry Potter in order to survive. This is his story.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 28k, complete)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings warp all Harry could have become until no more than dark magic and devotion remains. Visions of a wraith with red eyes complicate matters, especially when Harry and the Voice follow it to Hogwarts so Master can get his hands on the Philosopher’s stone.

Eulogy by @meles-merrivale (E, 6k, complete)

You run through the things you have to do for the day. It is, admittedly, a very short list. Wake up. Be clean. Be ready. An empty life, some might call it. You don’t. It is the life He has given you, and so it is what you deserve.

last rites by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)

Harry has an hour before he walks to his death in the Forbidden Forest. The horcrux in Harry’s scar decides to take matters into its own hands.

Look at me. by @crowcrowcrowthing (M, 1k, complete)

A dark night of the soul.

Pitch Black by @kagariasuha (E, 2k, complete)

The proximity of Horcruxes can influence anyone - especially Harry.

sandpaper kisses, paper cut bliss by @xodahafez (E, 27k, WIP)

Harry Potter survives the Killing Curse, but so does the horcrux within him. And this horcrux has been dangerously infatuated with Harry for seventeen years.

saw you in a dream by @duplicitywrites (E, 2k, complete)

Harry has had this dream before.

👑 Diadem

A peculiar way of fitting together by @being-luminous (T, 2k, complete)

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m wearing a diadem?”

Dance Me On and On by @duplicitywrites (E, 19k, complete)

In his first year at Hogwarts, Harry overhears Quirrell interrogating Binns about an artifact from over a thousand years ago. Five years later, Harry uncovers Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem in the Room of Requirement and finds himself pulled into a kingdom in the throes of a mysterious masquerade ball.

In Just a Moment, You’ll Be Mine by @dividawrites (E, 34k, WIP)

Tom has been stuck inside the Ravenclaw's Diadem for decades, alone, with nothing but his slowly fading memories. One day he feels a pull towards someone and gets interested. And then he gets obsessed.

Death is not an Escape by @whitepinkdandelions (T, 2k, complete)

The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw is full of endless wisdom, so it only makes sense that it gets its hooks into Harry much faster than the rest of them.

🏆 Cup

Thirst by @obsidianpen (E, 27k, complete)

Things go awry when the trio beaks into Gringotts. Harry finds himself trapped, locked in the Lestrange vault, wandless and alone... With a horcrux.

🔒 Locket

Arson by @rudehellion (M, 8k, complete)

The hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes is going poorly. In need of some space to think, Harry offers to take the first watch over camp and slips out into the snowy night. Unable to shake his dark thoughts, Harry finds himself drifting and he begins to dream. What he sees changes everything.

knock it off (part 1) / crave gets slaked (part 2) by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts (E, 6k, complete)

At some point during Harry's time with the Dursleys, pain got crossed with affection. A kick from Dudley or having his arm yanked by Uncle Vernon at least means they’re acknowledging his existence. It’s not love, but it’s something. Too bad for Harry he carries that through to his less dysfunctional relationships.

The Cost by Blood_Stained_Fingers (M, 8k, complete)

The cost of making a horcrux was steep and when Voldemort manages to kill Harry, destroying the horcrux within, Harry finds out the exact price of losing a piece of your soul. It made a cruel joke that if Voldemort loved his horcruxes, Harry should love them too.

The Dead of Night by @cybrid (E, 6k, complete)

An empty house. A glint of gold. A dream. Or: running away from Privet Drive goes terribly for Harry.

The Ties That Bind by @mosiva (E, 8k, complete)

Harry finds the locket at Grimmauld Place, but it has a curse laid on it. When Harry triggers it, he finds himself trapped with the locket version of Tom Riddle, both of them stuck within the enchantment until they can find the way out. Or so Harry thinks.

Whole by Emriel (E, 20k, complete)

The horcrux hunt goes wrong and Harry fails to destroy the locket horcrux. Tom Riddle hands him over to the Dark Lord as a present for they know he holds part of their soul. In their care, Harry learns that feelings, no matter how toxic, are hard to get rid off.

💍 Ring

Personal Assistant by @phantomato (E, 10k, complete)

“And that’s it? I call ‘Tom’ and you show up?” “Yes,” Tom answers.

shelter from the storm by @cindle-writes, @duplicitywrites (E, 7k, complete)

After being left behind by the Dursleys, Harry stumbles upon an empty shack in the middle of nowhere, where he finds a mysterious ring underneath the loose floorboards.

#tomarrymort #tomarry #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #harry/horcrux #horcrux tom #scarcrux #diadem horcrux #cup horcrux #locket horcrux #ring horcrux

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jakeshands · 7 months

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love me like you

pairing: sim jake x fem!reader

synopsis: who would’ve thought that a multitude of failed blind dates would lead you to fake dating jake sim? definitely not you. soon, you find out fake dating has its pros and cons. pros; you’re finally in a relationship, you have your own personal chauffeur, and your own personal study buddy. cons; you fall in love. what a mess.

genre: strangers to lovers, blind dating, fake dating, mutual pining, fluff and angst

featuring: enhypen, wonyoung of ive, yunjin of lsfm, ricky of zb1, soobin of txt

warnings: light angst, profanity, mentions of alchohol/consumption of alchohol, lots of kissing, mentions of death

word count: 25k

author’s note: look this got out of hand and idk how that happened. what was supposed to be under 20k turned into this mess. please ignore all the editing mistakes and if the story doesnt flow well/is choppy and some scenes feel out of place….just know i had to cut scenes out to post this fic. i couldnt post the whole 28k word fic for some weird reason so this is the edited version. please enjoy and lmk if u want to read the scenes i had to cut! anyway the reader is korean in this fic, just a heads up. u will see Why. um. thats it. and also if the ending feels rushed, that’s because It Is.

“Are you mansplaining to me?” You ask your date, a frown permanently sharpened onto your face. “Because, for the record, I know what a wage gap is. No need to explain it in a condescending way.”

You were excited about this date -- the fourth one your kind friend, and roommate, Wonyoung had set up for you. She had taken your inexperience in high school very personally and took it upon herself to get you to go on as many dates as possible. In her own words, “you’re at college! Time to let loose, girl!”

So; your first date went well, but it only ended in a friendship. Taehyun Kang was fun to talk to, but when the date came to an end the both of you agreed your relationship wouldn’t ever go further than a friendship, so you exchanged numbers, followed each other on TikTok, and began to send each other random, funny TikToks to each other.

Your second date showed up stoned. Ben was fun to talk to since he was stoned, and his answers to the questions you had to ask ten times were completely off-topic, but you still had an enjoyable time. Though, when the date ended you both went your separate ways. (Ben texted you within the following days. He invited you to a party. You then lost your virginity.)

Your third date was with a girl. Yuri Jo. She was pretty and funny, and she went on this date to make her crush jealous. You willingly helped Yuri out, and a week after your date, Yuri’s crush confessed to her. Yuri and you keep in touch over Instagram -- Yuri’s feed is just her and her girlfriend now, and you think it’s adorable.

This brings us to your fourth date; Soobin Choi. Anime enthusiast, takes Gender Studies as an elective course, and a professional mansplainer. When he showed up to the date, you felt yourself swoon over how handsome he looked. His smile was cute, and dimples were even cuter -- and then Soobin opened his mouth. The first red flag was the fact Soobin said he wasn’t a feminist, but women should be treated just as fairly as men. You told Soobin that was feminism and he shot you down. Then, for the better half of your date, Soobin mansplained many things to you; Anime, Maki Zeinin from Jujutsu Kaisen, and the wage gap.

“And I don’t think men should even be allowed to speak about Maki Zeinin. She is for the women. She is gay.”

Soobin harshly stabs his tiramisu as he listens to you. “Maki is-- Maki is not gay.” Soobin splutters. “Calling a character, whose sexuality hasn’t been explicitly revealed, gay is very --”

Huffing, you push back your chair and glare at Soobin. “Thank you for the date, Soobin but I think it’s time for me to go. I forgot I had fish to feed and a New Girl marathon to finish.”

“Fine,” sniffs Soobin, abandoning his tiramisu. “Let’s go split the payment.”

After splitting the pavement, you step out into the cold December air. Shivering, you draw your coat tighter around your torso and scan the streets around you. Soobin turns to you, and you brace yourself for whatever bullshit he was about to say.

“Would you like a ride home?” Soobin asks.

“No,” you answer without any hesitation.

“Are you sure? How else will you get home, then?”

“I can walk,” you respond coldly.

“Walk,” Soobin repeats, not believing your words. “Don’t be stupid, Y/N. Come on, let me take you home.”

Sighing, you give in. It was quite cold, and you weren’t sure you would be able to walk all the way home in the dark. “Fine.” You follow Soobin to his car, which is a car you expected from a college student; old, and barely working.

It takes a while for hot air to blow through the heaters, so you sit in the cold silence with Soobin for half of the ride back to your place. “How do you even know Wonyoung?” You ask Soobin, looking out the window and watching cars race past.

“I don’t know her, she’s just a friend of a friend,” Soobin answers.

“Why did you even agree to go on this date?”

Soobin shrugs. “Post-grad is lonely.”

Finally, your dorm hall comes into view. You could practically hear New Girl calling to you. “Thank you for the ride home,” you tell Soobin.

“No problem. See you around?”

“Yeah,” you shut the door and immediately sprint into your dorm hall, aching for warmth over the chilly wind blowing violently through the air. Rushing past the kitchen and the common areas, you dash into the elevator that Ricky was holding open for you. You thank the platinum blond and rest against the elevator walls, fanning yourself.

In your pocket, your phone begins to buzz uncontrollably. Stifling your sigh, you pull out your phone and unlock it to see all of your friends active in the group chat.

yoon 💖

[1 video attachment]

WOAHHHHHHHHHH?????

apparently jake gave her chlamydia LMFAO

jiwon loml

throwing a red drink all over his white top..that’s gotta hurt lol

wony 👯

jake has chlamydia???

yoon 💖

idk.

the girl in the video mentions it tho. did u not watch it???

wony 👯

i did!!!!! i’m just surprised jake has chlamydia

baby hikaru

what’s so surprising abt it??

rei 🐥 🐥

jsut spliilt ramen everywhehere :(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((:((((((((((((((((

The elevator door dings open and you step out, walking down the hall to your room. Your and Wonyoung’s names were proudly sketched onto the whiteboard outside of your room. Cats, courtesy of Jiwon, and hearts, courtesy of Rei were added on after you hung the whiteboard outside of the room when you first moved in.

Pushing open the door, Wonyoung lies on her bed, swinging her legs through the air as she smiles bashfully at her phone. “Welcome back, Y/N,” Wonyoung looks up from her phone and wiggles her eyebrows. “So? Did you kiss? Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend? Soobin’s really handsome, isn’t he?”

“He’s handsome,” you agree, shrugging off your coat. “But. He’s just not my type.”

Wonyoung groans, rolling onto her back. “No one is your type. What is your type?”

“Someone who doesn’t mansplain the wage gap to me,” you deadpan, crawling under your covers and staring up at the ceiling. “He said he wasn’t a feminist, yet he hopes that one day women can be treated just as fairly as men.”

Wonyoung snorts. “That sounds terrible.”

“It was terrible,” you groan, rolling onto your stomach and suffocating yourself with your pillow.

“Well, I’m out of options,” Wonyoung tells you. “My connections can only get me so far.”

“That’s okay,” you roll back onto your back and look over at Wonyoung. “I’m thinking, you know that section in the school’s magazine? Where they send two people on a blind date and then those two people write about the date for the magazine? I might sign up for that. It looks fun, and who knows, maybe I will find the love of my life! If not, I’ll just join dating apps.”

Wonyoung perks up, her eyes shining. “Oh my god! Yes!” She shifts to the edge of her bed. “You should one-hundred percent do it, Y/N. Apply for it now!” Wonyoung slips off her bed and steps over to her desk, grabbing her Macbook and flopping down onto your bed beside you.

With a pounding heart, you sign up for the blind date program. “I hope I get someone nice,” you tell Wonyoung as you click the apply button. “Someone I can at least have a conversation with.”

“Or someone you can get down and dirty with,” smirks Wonyoung, ignoring your glare. Her phone buzzes and you steal a glance at the notification. You gasp and whack Wonyoung on the shoulder when you see who has just texted her. “Sunghoon Park? Since when did you know Sunghoon Park?”

“I don’t,” Wonyoung says.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t know him,” but the blush spreading across her cheeks as she types back with a stupid smile on her face says otherwise.

Rolling your eyes, you pull out your phone to spill Wonyoung’s Sunghoon Secret to the groupchat. “I totally believe you, Wonyoung.”

—-

It’s been a week since you took a leap of faith and applied for the blind date program run by your university’s magazine. It’s been a week of you non-stop refreshing the top of your school email’s inbox. It’s been a week of Wonyoung constantly asking you if you had scored a blind date. It’s been a week of nothing but stress.

You slowly come to terms with the fact that you weren’t chosen -- it was like you were asking whoever it is that pairs two people together to search for a needle in a stack of needles. What needle were they supposed to be searching for in the first place? It’s all futile.

Though, when your inbox receives a new email on a Wednesday night, you can’t help but squeal. “Wonyoung!” You call out, waving your best friend over as you eagerly squirm on the armchair you were sitting on in the common room of your dormitory.

Congrats! You’ve been chosen…reads the email notification. Wonyoung eagerly badgers you to open the email, and without hesitation you do. A flood of information is revealed to you and Wonyoung -- your date was to happen on a Friday night. 6 PM. At the local restaurant that is an avid sponsor of your college’s football team, you and your date were to be gifted with a one-hundred-dollar voucher to cover the cost of your dinner.

“This is amazing, Y/N!” Wonyoung whispers to you in the dark, hours after you received the email. The time was creeping into the early morning of Thursday when Wonyoung whispered to you, the both of you unable to sleep because of the email you received confirming that you were going on another blind date this Friday.

Friday comes faster than you expected it to, and you were not prepared for what it brings you. As Murphy’s Law states; anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. And it all starts with you sleeping through your 9 AM alarm. (For the first time ever.) You wake up with ten minutes to get dressed, eat, and race across campus to your first lecture of the day -- even worse, it was raining outside. Torrential rain.

It doesn’t get any better. At your first tutorial of the day, your tutor hands you back the essay you asked her to go over, and it’s covered in red marker with a comment saying this essay is a C. C plus at best. And you feel your knees give out. You race through lunch, grabbing hot chips from your dormitory’s lunch hall and re-reading the red-marked comments on your worst essay to date.

Your following lecture is canceled because your professor is sick, and then your last tutorial of the day is also canceled. You end up joining Wonyoung, Yoon, and Rei in one of the campus cafes, soothing your sorrows with apple juice bought from a vending machine.

“Enhypen’s throwing a party tomorrow,” Yoon says. “Should we go?”

“I’m down,” Rei shrugs. “I need to forget all about the assessments waiting for me back at my dorm.” Then, she nudged Wonyoung. “But I bet Wonyoung is eager to go. Her beau is in that frat.”

Wonyoung blushes hotly and tells Rei to shut the fuck up. You don’t have the energy in you to join in on Rei’s teasing.

When you reach your dorm after spending the rest of the afternoon elbow-deep in assessments in the campus library, you note the time. 5:30 PM. Didn’t you have something to do at 6? Then, you remember. The blind date. Fuck.

You throw open the tiny shared closet and rummage through all the clothes you and Wonyoung were able to stuff in here before investing in a couple of dressers. Every outfit you try on isn’t up to your, or Wonyoung’s standards, and by the time you’re done with your outfit and makeup, the clock reads 5:55 PM. You can’t take the bus now; you’re going to be super fucking late.

Bidding Wonyoung a hurried goodbye, you race into the common room and scout for a familiar face. As usual, Ricky was reclining sideways on one of the many couches, Uno cards in hand, and completely obliterating who he was playing with. (Bahiyyih, Dayeon, and Youngeun.)

“Ricky!” You call out, bounding over to the boy. “Could you drive me somewhere? Please? I’ll pay you!”

“Drive you? Where?” Ricky asks, placing a yellow six on top of the growing pile of Uno cards.

“Just.” You check the time on your phone. 5:57 PM. “Down the street. The Korean BBQ place.”

Ricky huffs. “Alright. Let me finish this game first, though.”

“Ricky --”

With a flourish, Ricky places his remaining red cards on top of the red card Youngeun placed down. The three girls all let scandalous gasps rip from their mouths and Ricky smirks proudly. “I won. I expect to see my essays finished by Friday.”

Ricky slips off the couch and pulls his keys out from his hoodie pocket, swinging them through the air. “Let’s go, Y/N.”

—-

“Thank you!” You shout at Ricky as you shut the car door harshly. You break into a run for the Korean BBQ place, already five minutes late. Your heart pounds insanely fast and it feels like you’re about to explode.

With your mind a mess, you don’t notice the large puddle in front of you until it’s too late. Cold water soaks your left foot, drenching your shoe and sock. Coming to an abrupt halt, you glance down, finally taking notice of the large puddle and you let various loud curses rip.

You don’t have time to figure out how to dry yourself, so you carry on to the barbeque place. Wrenching the door open and listening to the bell jingle harshly, you scan the room of people. You don’t even know who you’re looking for. A waitress appears in front of you, beaming. “Are you here for the blind date?”

You nod your head. “Great, I’ll take you over!” You trail after the waitress, cursing under your breath as your shoe squelches every few steps, and your feet grow colder every second you don’t stop to dry yourself. You bump into the waitress, realizing she has come to a stop. “I’ll return in a bit to take your orders. Enjoy!” And then the waitress disappears.

You see who your date is and it takes everything in you to not turn around and walk out of the restaurant.

Jake Sim sits in front of you, blond hair gleaming beneath the bright white restaurant lights. He glances up at you, holding his menu and you can easily tell he’s not impressed by you turning up to the date seven minutes late.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, clumsily pulling out your chair and taking a seat opposite him. “I’m so sorry. Today’s been a totally shit day and -- sorry, I shouldn’t cuss. I didn’t mean to arrive late, I was super excited about this date, it’s just that my shit day --- fuck sorry. Sorry. My shit day got in the way of my time management and. I’m just. So sorry. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I’m sorry for turning up late.”

Jake smiles. It’s a small smile, one that barely reaches his eyes. “It’s okay. We all have our days.”

“Right.”

You both lapse into awkward silence. “I’m Y/N L/N.” You introduce yourself awkwardly, fiddling with the salt packets on the table.

“Jake Sim,” Jake responds, but you already knew that -- you know Jake Sim well. He’s a part of Enhypen. A well-known, incredibly popular frat on your college’s campus. It’s a legacy frat -- sons of college alumni always get into that frat. There have been the odd students that got into Enhypen because of their connections, but it’s usually always legacies that pledge in. Enhypen is known for many things; the hot college students living in the house, the massive parties they throw almost every weekend, and Jay Park. Everyone who goes to your college knows Jay Park. It’s hard to not know Jay Park -- but that’s another story.

Jake Sim is undeniably handsome. Big, round, warm brown eyes, cute nose, full lips, and sharp cheekbones, he has it all. Jake Sim is also undeniably wealthy, and undeniably smart. Everyone knows Jake will graduate with honors and with the top marks in his class. Everyone knows Jake will be one of the best students to graduate from their university, he’s a once-in-a-generation student. His wealth is also very highly looked upon. His father owns many corporate businesses in America, and overseas (mostly South Korea.) And Jake, himself, has a trust fund and rumor has it the trust fund is in the millions. Jake’s father and mother are legacies of your college, so it’s not a surprise Jake got early admission, and also is a part of Enhypen.

“What year are you?” Jake asks.

“I’m a first year student. Majoring in Linguistics.”

Jake hums. “I'm in my third year. Physics major.”

“I always hated anything to do with math or science in high school,” you comment, picking up the menu in front of you. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to do college-level physics.”

“I hated anything to do with English in high school,” Jake responds. “I don’t know how people can do English-related courses in college. Where would a degree in Linguistics even take you?”

“Translating jobs,” you refuse to look at Jake, some sort of frustration boiling in your blood because of Jake’s offhand comment. “Maybe editing. I could also teach English to non-English speakers. What does Physics even offer to you after post-grad?”

“I could become a NASA employee,” Jake responds. “Which I hope to be after post-grad.”

You take a peek at Jake, who is already looking at you. You smile, but it’s not a warm smile nor does it reach your eyes. “I hope you become a NASA employee as well.”

A familiar waitress stops by, ready to take your orders. After she leaves, the awkward silence is overwhelming so you reach forward and take a sip of water from the glass in front of you. “So,” Jake speaks up after a few moments. “What do you do for fun, Y/N? What are your hobbies?”

Going on a date is a way to get to know each other, so you indulge in Jake’s question. “I like to read—a lot. I love going to libraries and spending hours in them, just flipping through books or taking a seat on a beanbag and reading. I also like just staying in and hanging out with my friends, playing board games is always fun. I don’t really like going out that much.”

Jake hums, and reaches for his own drink. It’s some kind of mocktail. “What about you?” You ask Jake. “What do you do for fun?”

You find out Jake’s the complete opposite of you. He likes to go out. He likes to play sports; basketball, football, soccer, rugby, cricket, baseball. He’s probably done every sport there is. He also likes to go fishing, which you find highly unenjoyable. He’s very active, he finds comfort in exercising. And more importantly, he enjoys a good party.

“Do you drink a lot?” You ask Jake.

“Depends on the day,” Jake answers. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug. “I’m just curious. I don’t drink that much. I do enjoy a bit of white wine here and there, though.”

The conversation between you and Jake seems stilted. You can’t find any common ground -- Jake doesn’t watch many TV shows and not a lot of K-dramas. He watches movies every now and then when he finds time in his busy schedule. “I’m busy almost every day of the week,” Jake explains. “I have football practice and debate club practice, and I handle the funds of our frat since I’m the treasurer. I also pick up tutoring jobs most days.” Even his music taste doesn’t match yours. Anything from Justin Bieber to AC/DC is what Jake enjoys. Different from your own taste.

“Do you know Taylor Swift?” You ask Jake.

“I know her song, Love Story,” Jake answers.

You drop the subject of music immediately.

The food arrives, and it’s awful. You take a bite of your food and immediately regret it because the food is chewy. Very chewy and it tastes severely undercooked. While Jake happily eats his food, you’re left with pushing your food around your plate because you don’t want to cause a scene. You don’t want to make some waitress’ day awful because of your complaints about undercooked food.

Jake gives you a look as he notices you haven’t touched your plate of food.

“I’m not hungry,” you tell Jake with a grin you hope placates Jake. He just shrugs and continues on eating. The silence is unbearable and your eyes begin to burn, which leads you to reprimand yourself -- why are you tearing up? You have no right to tear up. (Or maybe you do because this date is going badly. The awkward silence refuses to go away, and the more you talk with Jake, the more you realize how little you have in common with him.)

Jake finishes eating and there’s another five-minute silence. “Wanna go get ice cream?” Jake asks. His eyes beg you to say no and you want to say no, but instead, you say “Sure!”

You follow Jake up to the counter to pay, but of course, something bad just has to happen to you. A waitress passing by trips up and spills the red wine she was carrying all over your top. You stand there, fists clenched and blinking back your tears as the waitress apologizes profusely.

“It’s okay,” you assure the waitress, waving her away. “It’s okay.” (It wasn’t okay.)

“What happened?” Jake asks you after he finishes using the voucher to pay, noticing the large red stain on your white top.

“Red wine spillage. Let’s go get ice cream.” You step out of the restaurant and wait for Jake to lead you down the street to the nearby ice cream parlor.

On the way, you once again, don’t notice a large puddle until you’re stepping in it, completely soaking your right foot -- shoes, socks, and all. You groan loudly and shake your first threateningly up at the sky, wondering what you did to make this happen to you.

“You okay?” Jake asks you, frowning slightly.

“Yeah,” you respond, blushing when you realize Jake had been watching as you cursed at the sky above.

Entering the parlor, you search your pockets for your wallet. Your movements become increasingly frantic when you can’t find it and then it hits you -- you have left your wallet on your bedside table. Jake, increasingly perceptive, notices your troubled expression. “What’s up, Y/N?”

You sigh and hang your head, mumbling, “I forgot my wallet.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I forgot my wallet,” you repeat louder. The silence that follows is suffocating.

Jake sighs and when you look up, he doesn’t look impressed as he says, “I’ll pay.”

“No -- it’s okay. We don’t have to get ice cream. I don’t want you to pay,” You hold your hands out, your eyes wide and the tears burn your eyes once more.

“I’ll pay,” Jake repeats, more firmly this time. “Pick what flavor you want.”

“Mint chocolate,” you say without hesitation.

Jake makes a face. “You like mint chocolate?”

“It’s the best flavor.”

Jake shudders and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

You step up to the counter, Jake gesturing for you to go first. “Can I have mint chocolate please?”

The girl behind the register smiles politely. “Sorry, we ran out of mint chocolate. Do you have another flavor you would like to try?”

You don’t know why, but that was your breaking point. You break out into sobs and the entire shop quietens, all eyes turning to you as you begin to sob at the mention of the shop having no mint chocolate ice cream. Without bothering to excuse yourself, you exit the store, sobbing louder as you stand outside in the cold with soaking wet feet, and a white top stained red.

You wonder why today of all days, the world decides to be cruel to you. Any other day would’ve been fine, but instead, on the day of your blind date with Jake Sim of all people, the world decides to unleash its fury on you.

The door slams shut behind you and you turn around, finding Jake standing in front of the entrance, a small paper cup full of ice cream in hand. You stare at him, unable to respond. Jake had still gotten ice cream, making sure to take his time, instead of coming out to check on you. Maybe you and Jake weren’t compatible in any way -- he was a T, after all, whereas you were an F.

“Jake, what the fuck--”

He steps closer, holding out the paper cup that had two spoons. You peer into the cup, seeing green ice cream with dots of occasional brown chocolate chips. Jake had gotten mint chocolate ice cream. You look at Jake, floundering for words.

“They had mint chocolate out back,” Jake informs you. “I told them to go get it.”

“You don't -- you don’t like mint chocolate though.”

Jake shrugs. “But you do. Here, you must be cold.” He slips off his jean jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Instantly, you feel warm and the awful feeling that had manifested in your gut disappears. You wipe away your tears and take the unused wooden spoon, scooping up some mint chocolate ice cream and letting it melt in your mouth.

“Thank you, Jake,” you say softly. “How could I ever repay you? You didn’t have to do this.”

“You were having a shitty day,” Jake answers with a small smile -- a small yet genuine smile. His first genuine smile of the date. “It was the least I could do.”

“Well, thank you.” You repeat.

“I know how you can repay me, Y/N,” a mischievous grin spreads across Jake’s face as he takes a step closer. There’s a change of energy in the air and your breath gets caught in your throat. “You can repay me with a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

Jake hums, nodding. “A kiss.” There’s a beat. “You can say no, though.”

“No,” you say, and Jake’s expression changes. He steps back, but instantly you’re yanking him close to you, desperate to correct the misunderstanding. “I mean. No. I don’t want to say no. I want to kiss you, Jake.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat.

Jake’s hand cups your cheek. His eyes hold yours, an intense look in them. He begins to lean in and your heart speeds up, your cheek burning beneath Jake’s touch.

“You don’t have chlamydia, do you?” You ask Jake, your voice breathless.

Jake snorts. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Jake answers with a kiss. Immediately, with your hand that isn’t holding the cup of ice cream, you grip the collar of Jake’s dress shirt. His lips are warm against yours, and he tastes like mint chocolate. You kiss back eagerly, giving in to the warmth of Jake, and the gentle probing of his tongue, sighing loudly.

“Well, well, well,” an unfamiliar voice cuts through the air. “What do we have here, little Jakey?”

Jake pulls away from you, forehead against yours as he catches his breath before turning around, his hand slipping away from your cheek and bringing all of your warmth with it. “Hyunjae,” Jake says, but he doesn’t sound happy to see the stranger.

You drink in the appearance of the stranger. You’ve never seen him in your life. But you can pick out slight similarities between Jake and this stranger -- Hyunjae. Maybe they’re related in some way, and your cheeks begin to burn a deep red.

“Did you finally settle down, Jakey?” Hyunjae remarks, not kindly.

“What’s it to you?” Jake retorts, his voice strained.

Hyunjae holds up his hands. “I’m just curious, you are my baby cousin after all. I’m very protective over you,” his eyes slide over to you and he gives you a smile that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand. “I’m Hyunjae. Jake’s cousin! We grew up together. How long have you two been dating?”

“Nice to meet you, Hyunjae,” you respond in a small voice. “But we’re not --”

“Don’t answer him, Y/N,” Jake cuts you off, sounding furious. “He’s not worth your time. Go find someone else to bother, Hyunjae. Fuck off.”

Hyunjae holds up his hands like he’s surrendering himself. “No need to get all aggressive, Jakey.” He then winks your way. “I look forward to seeing you around, Y/N.”

Hyunjae walks past you and Jake, sending one last smile over his shoulder. The smile feels like a warning.

You turn to Jake, looking for answers. You find him scuffing his shoe along the ground and mumbling curses under his breath. “Uh, Jake?” You poke his shoulder and he turns to you as if he was only just realizing you were next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Did you drive here?” Jake asks you.

“Uh, no. Ricky dropped me off. Why?”

“Can I take you home?”

You don’t know why your heart drops to your gut. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

“Great.” Jake takes your hand into his and pulls you in the direction of his car. You quickly dump the melted ice cream into a nearby trash can and try to keep up with Jake’s rapid footsteps. Jake’s car is a car you expected from someone like him; a flashy black Lexus.

When you are in the safety of Jake’s car, Jake turns to face you and inhales sharply. He doesn’t make any move to turn on the car. “That was my cousin, Hyunjae,” Jake says. “He’s the fucking worst. I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone as much as I hate Hyunjae, and it’s just my luck that he stumbles upon us on a date. Look, Y/N, I know we’ve just met, and I know this date went awful, and I probably don’t have the honor of asking this; but do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You stare at Jake, taken aback. A high-pitched, broken, “What?” Escapes your mouth.

“Not -- not a real girlfriend of course, just. Just a fake one. Let’s fake date. I know Hyunjae, and I know he’s already spreading the news about you and me to everyone in my family. And when it comes to my family --” Jake shakes his head. “It’s best if we fake date for a bit.”

You blink rapidly, trying to take everything in. The past few minutes have gone by so fast -- one moment you were crying because of how awful this day was, then you were wrapped up in Jake’s arms, kissing him, and the next you were watching Jake fight with his cousin and now. And now you’re being asked by Jake to fake date him. “What -- what do I get from this?” You respond. “Say I agree. What’s in it for me?”

Jake obviously wasn’t expecting that kind of response. It takes a while for him to respond to you. “I’ll do anything you ask,” Jake responds. “If you need to be picked up, I’ll pick you up. If you need to be dropped off somewhere, I’ll drop you off.” You don’t respond, thinking over Jake’s offer, but he takes the silence as your rejection so he adds desperately; “I’ll pay you.”

“You’ll -- you’ll pay me?” You look at Jake, gobsmacked.

“I’ll pay you.” Jake nods.

“Tell me why you need us to date this badly,” you tell Jake.

“Look, my family -- they’re not a normal family. All wealthy families aren’t normal. Mine -- they’re all competitive with each other. If one kid gets a high grade, everyone else’s kids must get a higher grade or else they aren’t worthy of having the last name ‘Sim’.” Jake explains. “Our family is not kind to each other. And when it comes to dating,” Jake sighs. “Breaking up with your significant other is the worst thing you could do. My relatives view breaking up as a sign of incompetence, a sign that you aren’t fit to take over the family business. It’s stupid, I know, and the last time I brought someone home, it ended in a disaster and -- and I want to prove them wrong. I want to show them that I can have a lasting relationship, and finally make my family proud of me.”

“What a fucked up family,” you respond in disbelief. “They really view breaking up that way? What, would they rather you cheat on your significant other while in a relationship?” Jake’s silence is your answer and you stare at Jake with wide eyes. “You’re joking. Right?”

Jake shakes his head.

“Would you -- would you cheat on me if I agreed?” You don’t know why you sound vulnerable.

Jake shakes his head aggressively, reaching for your hands. “No. No. I don’t -- I don’t like cheating. Or cheaters. That’s the lowest thing someone can do.”

“Okay,” you nod your head. “Why do you hate Hyunjae so much? Is it just because of the family rivalry?”

Jake sighs, chewing on his bottom lip. You try to not let that distract you from the situation at hand. “Well, yes. The rivalry doesn’t exactly help me have loving relationships with my family members but -- my previous girlfriend cheated on me with Hyunjae. They’re still dating now, and I always see her at family dinners and I just. I just want to prove to both of them that I can move on -- that I have moved on.”

You let Jake’s explanation simmer for a while. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your girlfriend -- fake girlfriend.”

Jake grins, squeezing your hands. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Silence fills the car and you sigh. “We need to map out the timeline of our relationship, sort out what are the dos and don’ts of this relationship, and how we will deal with the pieces we’re supposed to write about our blind date for the school magazine.”

Jake nods his head.

“I went out on a blind date last week,” you inform Jake. “It was Saturday. Soobin Choi. So we have had to meet after that.”

“Soobin Choi?” Jake gives you a look. “You don’t look like the type of girl to go for Soobin Choi.”

You scowl. “My friend set it up for me. And don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll ever be a Soobin Choi girl.”

“Who knows you went on this blind date?” Jake asks you. “Other than the people who arranged this for us.”

“Wonyoung Jang.”

“Wonyoung? You’re friends with Wonyoung?”

You nod your head and Jake grins. “My friend, Sunghoon Park? Do you know him? Anyway, he has a huge crush on Wonyoung.”

You giggle. “I think Wonyoung likes him back. They’ve been texting a lot recently.”

Jake gasps. “That’s who he’s been texting? That motherfucker wouldn’t tell me who it was.” Jake cracks his neck, “I’m so going to get him when I get home.” He then turns to you. “Only Jay and Sunoo know about the blind date. Do you think Wonyoung can keep quiet about how we actually met?”

You nod your head. “She loves keeping secrets.”

“Great,” Jake nods his head. “We threw a party last week on Saturday. What if you said you stopped by after the date?”

“Soobin dropped me back home, though,” you respond. “And lots of people saw me enter the dorm.”

“What about after?” Jake asks.

“I guess that could work. Wonyoung is a party girl. She could’ve taken me out to party after the date that ended in disaster, and I met you there.”

Jake nods his head. “I think that’s believable.”

“But didn’t you get screamed at by a girl for giving her chlamydia that night?”

Jake grins. “So that’s why you asked if I had chlamydia.”

“Whatever,” you huff.

“We’ll say we comforted each other about our shitty nights and knew then that we had a connection. I asked you out, and you said yes. What did you do Monday night?”

“I had classes until 4 PM.”

Jake nods his head. “I had football practice until five, and then I drove myself around for a few hours. Decompressing after a shit practice. I got McDonalds. You can’t go wrong with McDonalds after working off all the fat gathered up from having too much McDonalds.” Jake shakes his head in amusement at himself. “I could say I took you out then, but we didn’t go to McDonalds.”

“We went to the rollerskating rink,” you suggest. “I’ve always wanted to go on a date there.”

“Okay,” Jake nods his head.

“Hey what if -- what if we admit to dating each other on the pieces we write about our blind date?”

Jake looks at you, confused.

“I applied for the blind date on Saturday. Before I “left” for Enha’s party. And I got the notification that I’d been chosen on Wednesday. After we supposedly began dating. We could say we mentioned that we applied for this blind date thing to each other, and realized we were the two people chosen. Doesn’t that sound believable?”

“That works. I applied for the blind date on Friday.” Jake’s smile slowly grows. “This is all working out!”

“That way, we won’t really be lying about the blind date if someone asks,” you tell Jake.

Jake holds his hand up for a high five. You slap it, sharing an excited grin with Jake. Everything was falling into place. “OK, we have our story settled, now are there any boundaries you want to mention? Though, if we want to keep this believable I have to be able to kiss you. On the lips. A lot.” Jake looks shy as he mentions this. “I’m -- I’m a very affectionate boyfriend. Or hook up. I like to kiss, so we’re gonna have to kiss a lot.”

Your heart leaps to your throat. Kissing Jake on the lips whenever he felt like it? You would be stupid to not agree. “That’s fine,” you hope you come across as calm at the thought of kissing Jake. “I don’t mind. I don’t really have anything to mention-- except when should we break up?”

“Uh.”

“What about my birthday? February 14th. That gives us...A month and a bit of dating.”

“You were born on Valentine's Day?” Jake asks in awe.

You nod your head. “Yeah. Does that sound good?”

Jake nods his head. “For sure.” Then he frowns, biting his lip once again. You’re beginning to hate it when he does that because it only makes you want to kiss him. “Do you…Do you think you could come to every party Enhypen throws?”

“Why?”

“Heeseung’s girlfriend, Yunjin, always comes to our parties even though she’s not a partier herself.”

You shrug, thinking of Wonyoung always telling you to go out and live your life. “Why not?”

“And pet names? Do you like them? Baby? Babe? Pookie Pie?”

You shove Jake. “Pet names are cute. As long as they don’t go overboard, like Pookie Pie, or muffin, or anything relating to food.”

“Okay,” Jake holds out his hand for you to shake. “One last time; are you sure you want to be my fake girlfriend?”

“Yes,” you respond. “I have to tell Wonyoung about this, if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine,” Jake says, shaking your hand tightly. “I have to tell Jay and Sunoo anyway. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow? For the party? Wonyoung can come too.”

You agree. “Alright, I’ll take you home now.”

The drive home is filled with Jake’s Justin Bieber playlist. You decide that your first course of action as Jake’s fake girlfriend will be to change his choice in music. You will craft him a playlist to use whenever you’re in the car with him, so you can both listen to tunes you both enjoy.

After exchanging numbers, you hug Jake goodbye and fly up to your dorm, eagerly bursting in and scaring the shit out of Wonyoung.

“Wonyoung,” you exclaim, heaving for air, “you will never believe what just happened.”

—-

jake 🤍

5 mins away :)

After you receive Jake’s text, you send yourself into a frenzy, pacing your small dorm with Wonyoung sitting on her bed, watching. “Oh my god, this is a mistake. I should’ve never agreed to fake date Jake. Fuck.” You look at Wonyoung, halting your pacing. “I fucked up badly and you’re not going to say anything?”

Wonyoung smiles at you. “I think this will be a good thing, Y/N. Think optimistically! Who knows, you could develop lifelong friendships because of this.”

You cuss out Wonyoung and resume your pacing, jumping at every loud sound. You weren’t prepared for tonight -- how were you supposed to act like you were in love with Jake when you literally only met and talked to him yesterday? You weren’t an actor, and you were a terrible liar.

Your phone buzzes. “He’s here,” you tell Wonyoung. “Can’t I tell him I’m feeling sick?”

Wonyoung shakes her head, sliding off her bed and throwing you the leather jacket you took from Youngeun. “No, put that on, and let’s go get fucking wasted!” Wonyoung cheers loudly and you roll your eyes, tugging the leather jacket over your red corset top.

Jake was scrolling through his phone when you walked up to his car. You rap your knuckles against the window and Jake looks up, breaking out into a grin when he sees you. You walk around to the passenger’s side and slide into the car, hearing whispers of Justin Bieber playing in the background.

“Good evening,” Jake greets. “You look nice.”

Your hands fiddle with your short black skirt, trying to stop the blush from heating up your cheeks. “It’s nothing,” you respond, “just something Wonyoung picked out for me.”

At the mention of Wonyoung, Jake turns to look behind him, grinning at Wonyoung. “Hey, I’m Jake. It’s nice to finally meet you. Sunghoon talks about you a lot.”

You watch Wonyoung blush. “I hope it’s good things.”

Jake giggles. “It’s only ever good things about you, don’t worry.” He then settles back down and looks at you. “Are you ready, Y/N? You can back out if you want, there’s always another party you could go to.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. Let me play some music, though, enough Justin Bieber.”

Jake drives you and Wonyoung back to his frat to the tune of One Direction’s discography. You were surprised to find out Jake knew most of One Direction’s songs. You’d finally found common ground with Jake, and your chest warms at the thought.

The street is packed with cars, and late party-goers walking on the road, but with skilled ease, Jake maneuvers his way to the frat and parks the car up the driveway without a hitch. The music dies along with the car and is replaced with bass-booming music. The whole frat looks like it’s shaking. Jake turns to you and smiles, “I have some things to check up on, so take your time, alright? I’ll get you in a few minutes.” With a wink, he climbs out of his car and races into the frat, dapping up a few guys on the way in.

Immediately, your nerves skyrocket. You began to second-guess yourself, and your fingers returned to fiddle with the edge of your skirt. Noticing your nerves, Wonyoung speaks up, reaching through the gap between the driver and passenger seat for your hand. “You got this, Y/N. You better become an Oscar-winning actress as soon as you step out of this car. Your whole college career depends on this exact moment.”

You scowl at Wonyoung, pinching her wrist. “Some best friend you are,” you huff.

“Tough love,” Wonyoung shrugs.

“Tough love my ass.”

“Look, Y/N, I’ll be by your side the entire night --”

“--Don’t lie, Wony --”

“--For most of the night. But, you’ll be fine. You work well under pressure and remember, if in doubt, just kiss the life out of Jake. Making out is the best way to draw and lose attention simultaneously.”

Jake appears suddenly, knocking on the window and beckoning you out. Wonyoung climbs out first, striking up a conversation with Jake as you work up the nerves to exit Jake’s car. After inhaling and exhaling a few times, you open the car door and step out.

The music is much louder now. The shouting and cheers of already drunk party goers fill the air, and everywhere you look, there is a girl in a short dress, or a short skirt, much like yourself and Wonyoung. “I’ll see you inside, Y/N. In the kitchen, getting a drink.” Wonyoung squeezes your shoulder and walks across the lawn, smiling at a few people whom you’ve never seen interact with Wonyoung in your life.

Next to you, Jake touches your shoulders and turns you to face him. His smile is warm and it soothes your nerves. “Just stay by my side, alright? Stand next to me and look pretty, that’s easy, right?”

You smile. “I suppose.”

“Great,” Jake kisses your forehead and intertwines your hands together. He squeezes once, and then leads you across the lawn, pausing every now and then to talk to unfamiliar faces to you, but familiar faces to him. Eventually, you reach the frat and Jake pauses, looking at you for assurance before pushing forward.

His grip on your hand becomes firmer as he guides you through the large crowd of people filling the frat. Loud voices shout in your ear, and sweaty bodies knock up against your own. You begin to grow hot beneath Youngeun’s leather jacket.

You and Jake reach the kitchen, and you see Wonyoung standing with your friends. Warmth floods you and the nerves dissipate. Jake leads you over to the counter swimming in red cups and assortments of alcoholic drinks, along with some kind of alcoholic punch.

“Jungwon wanted to try making some weird alcoholic punch,” Jake informs you, bending down to shout his words against your ear. “I would suggest avoiding it. What do you want to drink?”

Jake offers his ear to you, still bending slightly so he is able to hear you over the music. “A White Claw. Black cherry flavor.”

Jake nods his head, drawing away. “Got it, Y/N.” he kisses your cheek. “I see your friends eyeing you. Go talk to them while I scavenge for some White Claws.”

You approach your friends, a blush rising to your cheeks as they all give you a knowing look. “Were you just with Jake Sim?” Yoon practically shouts, her cheeks already a bright red, courtesy of the red cup she holds in her hand. “Were you holding hands?”

“He kissed your cheek, Y/N!” Jiwon exclaims, her eyes wide and dimples appearing as she shouts at you. “What the fuck?”

You blush and dip your head. You felt self-conscious for whatever reason. “We’re dating,” you say loudly, avoiding eye contact. All of your friends, bar Wonyoung, gasp loudly and their voices clamber to be heard over the voice of Nicki Minaj rapping in the song Beauty and the Beat.

“When the fuck did this happen?!” Hikaru exclaims.

“Monday,” you respond.

There’s more shouting and you look to Wonyoung for guidance. She gives you an assuring smile and a small bout of confidence surges through your veins. “We met at a party last week,” you continue to explain. “Wonyoung brought me after my failed date with Soobin.”

“I can’t believe you managed to get cuffed -- and by Jake Sim at that,” Yoon explains, astonished.

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean, Yoon?”

“Oh! No offense to you!” Yoon says, realizing how awful her words sounded. “It’s just -- ever since he broke up with his last girlfriend, Jake’s been known to just sleep around. He hasn’t been in a committed relationship in a year and a half.” Yoon eyes you carefully, “just. Be careful, Y/N, I don’t want him to break your heart. You’re very precious. Too innocent for his kind of world.”

“I’ll be fine, Yoon,” you say to the girl, breaking out into a smile. “Jake takes care of me well.” You peer over your shoulder, catching sight of Jake leaning against the counter, chatting up a girl who grins, leaning forward to run her hand up his arm. Your heart drops and hurt immediately floods your chest.

You guess you spoke too soon.

Or not.

Jake catches your eye. “Hey, baby!” He shouts, drawing the attention of the girl sliding her hand up his arm, and everyone in the kitchen. “You wanted a black cherry white claw, right?” He holds up the can and winks.

You smile back. “That’s the one I wanted! I knew I could count on you, Jake!” The girl immediately retracts her hand, and the kitchen breaks out into loud voices, all saying the exact same thing -- Jake’s with Y/N?

You excuse yourself from your group of friends, who all grin at you, and bound over to Jake who is waiting for you. Without thinking it through, you rise to your toes, wrap a hand around the back of Jake’s neck, and bring him in for a kiss, savoring the feeling of Jake’s lips against yours.

You grab the white claw from Jake after the kiss, crack it open, and take a long sip. The alcohol cools you down immediately. “What was that for?” Jake asks you, amusement highlighting his face.

You shrug, not sure if your cheeks were hot because of the leather jacket you were wearing, or because you kissed Jake without thinking. “Just felt like it.”

Jake scoffs and leans down, stealing a kiss for himself.

“What was that for?” You ask him, repeating his words.

Jake repeats your own words, coupling it with a shrug as well. “Just felt like it.”

“I’m feeling hot,” you admit to Jake, “Is there anywhere I could put my leather jacket?”

“You could put it in my room.”

You give Jake a look and he snorts. “There was no other intention behind those words. We can just deposit your jacket in my room, and then join the party. Perhaps go dancing? Or we could socialize. It’s up to you, really. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

If you were able to see yourself, you think you would find stars in your eyes as you follow Jake out of the kitchen, his hand tightly gripping your own.

It’s well after one in the morning when you find yourself kissing Jake on one of the many couches in the frat. His arm is wrapped lazily around your waist as he keeps you close, his lips moving against yours in tandem. You explore Jake’s mouth with a vigor you didn’t even know you had, and you happily relish in the taste of the vodka shots Jake had encouraged you to take moments before you pulled him in for a kiss, which led to your fourth makeout session ever.

Someone clears their throat loudly and you and Jake break apart, chests heaving and eyes unable to look away. You’re the first to avert eye contact, looking at the stranger in front of you. The silver hair is immediately recognizable. Sunghoon Park towers over you and Jake, with Wonyoung gripping his bicep tightly, swaying slightly. She looked dazed.

“You’re Y/N?” Sunghoon looks to you for confirmation.

You nod your head, feeling as if you were floating. You’re pretty sure you’re tipsy. “Who’s asking?”

“Wony’s a bit drunk.” The use of Wonyoung’s nickname doesn’t slip past you. Nickname terms, huh? You think to yourself. “I think she should go home.”

“I’ll take them home,” Jake says, draping an arm over your shoulder and pulling you back against him, your body flush against his. “I’m the sober driver for tonight.”

Sunghoon snorts. “I totally believe you.”

Jake scowls. “Scout’s honor! I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol.”

“I’ll believe you. Get Wonyoung home safely.”

“Aye Aye captain,” Jake salutes, and Sunghoon whispers something to Wonyoung, who smiles and nods her head. Jake pushes himself off the couch, and then helps you up, giving you a gentle smile and moving hair out of your eyes.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Jake says, “Let’s get you home, Y/N.”

—-

You were still reeling from the party on Saturday. You don’t know what overcame you -- maybe it was the alcohol invading your bloodstream and the fact that all the attention was on you, that made you kiss Jake and cling to him while you danced.

Your phone lights up with another text from Jake. You had texted him throughout Sunday. He checked in a few times on Sunday, making sure you were feeling okay. Jake’s care for you made your heart expand times ten, but you had to remind yourself that this was all fake -- that none of this was real.

jake 🤍

Where are you?

you

library

in one of the study rooms

jake 🤍

What room?

you

third floor, twenty one A

jake 🤍

Ok. See you soon ❤️

Your heart pounds in your throat. You weren’t sure what you were going to do when Jake turns up in your study room with a large smile and hopeful brown eyes. He arrives quicker than you expected, opening the door and grinning at you.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets, slipping into the chair beside you.

“Hi,” you greet back quietly, focusing on your laptop in front of you. Silence embraces the room and your leg shakes beneath the table. You didn’t know how to work around Jake. He was an enigma. He was a puzzle -- a one thousand-piece puzzle that would take hours, if not days to figure out. He was a puzzle that came in a blank box with no photo to show you what the puzzle was supposed to look like.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt suddenly, unable to handle the silence. “I’m sorry about Saturday. I don’t know how to handle myself around you. I don’t know how to do relationships because I’ve never been in one, especially a fake one at that. It’s just -- it’s just so hard and confusing and I feel lost and. And. I’m sorry if I did anything weird or wrong or --”

“Y/N,” Jake interrupts your ramble. “You apologize too much.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Jake gives you a look and you avert your eyes.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You didn’t do anything wrong on Saturday. You were fine. I guess I’m also at fault for partially pushing you to join me at the party when we really haven’t spent any time together outside of that one blind date.” Jake reaches for your hands. “I’m here to help you, Y/N, we can work out how this fake relationship works together. First, you have to tell me a little bit more about yourself. Like, we should ask each other deep-hitting questions.”

You look at Jake and return his smile. “What are these deep-hitting questions?”

Jake hums in thought. “Like…What’s your favorite color?”

You snicker. “That’s a deep-hitting question?”

Jake nods his head, dead serious. “So? Your favorite color?”

“I like yellow,” you respond.

“Alright. Yellow. Any particular reason?”

You shake your head. “It’s a nice color. Warm color. Happy color. What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Jake responds. “No particular reason, like you. I just like how it looks. Not bright red, though, a dark deep red. Maroon is a nice color as well.” Jake reaches for another question. “What’s your family like?”

“I have a mom and younger sister. My dad passed away when I was young,” you tell Jake, your voice taking on a gentler tone. “My mom is my biggest inspiration. I look up to her a lot. She raised my sister and I all on her own. I was three when my dad passed, and my younger sister was one. I don’t really have many memories of my father, but I have plenty of my mother never giving up. She’s the reason I’m where I am now. She sacrificed everything for me.”

“She sounds amazing,” Jake responds, his tone matching your gentle one.

“She is. I talk to her and my younger sister every day.”

“How old is your younger sister?”

“She’s fifteen. She’s a freshman. Her name is Myeong.” You tilt your head as you look at Jake. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“My mom and dad are…very pushy and controlling. My dad wants me to graduate and take over the family business, and my mom is very eager for grandkids before she dies. They’re only proud of me when I accomplish something big, and my mom likes -- or well, used to control everything about my life when I was living under her roof.” Jake sighs, “but my older brother, he’s the only person I love in my family. He was always there for me, and always protected me. I love him a lot.”

Jake shifts in his chair and straightens his posture. “Ouch. I just brought the mood down. Sorry. Your mother and sister sound like fun.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” you comfort the older boy. “And yes. They’re very fun to be around. I can’t wait to spend winter break with them.”

“Right, winter break is next week.” Jake hunches back over. “I have to spend Christmas with my family. It’s not gonna be fun, especially since everyone has caught wind of our relationship.”

“You can do this, Jake,” you tell him with an encouraging grin, “If you need to escape though, call me and I’ll pretend to be having a meltdown so you can come over to mine for some reprieve. We usually watch all the Santa Clause movies after our Christmas dinner.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jake says, “are you hungry?”

You nod your head. “I was about to ask you if you wanted to take me to get some churros.”

“Right!” Jake stands as you begin to pack up your things. “I’ve been meaning to ask you for your bank details. I need to pay you.”

You look at Jake and frown. “I don’t want your money, Jake, seriously. It’s okay to not pay me.”

Jake shakes his head. “I feel bad for using you like this, though, Y/N. Please let me pay you, it’ll help ease my guilty consciousness for getting you involved in this mess.”

You sigh. “Fine. But I’m moving all the money you give me to a different account and not spending a single dollar.”

“That’s fine, as long as I’m able to pay you.”

After zipping up your bag, you pull out your phone and give Jake your bank details. “Now that that’s finished, I have something to tell you,” You step out of the study room with Jake trailing behind you. You let Jake fall into step beside you, and reach for his hand. “I’m thinking of making you a playlist to play whenever you drive me around because I’m planning on taking advantage of having you at my mercy.”

Jake smiles down at you. There’s a hint of fondness hidden in that smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Y/N. What songs were you thinking of putting on the playlist?”

“I’m keeping Justin Bieber off,” you retort jokingly.

Jake gasps and wretches his hand out of yours. You giggle and pout, reaching for Jake’s hand. “I was joking! You’re such a baby, Jakey poo.” You reach up to pinch his cheeks and Jake bats your hand away, intertwining your hands back together instead.

“It’ll be a surprise,” you tell Jake as the elevator doors open. “But I’m making sure it’s songs that both of us will enjoy because I’m such a great girlfriend.”

Jake rolls his eyes, but his smile gives away his fondness. “Of course you are, baby.” His eyes light up as if a light bulb went off above his head. “By the way, happy one week!” He kisses your cheek.

You roll your eyes. “Sap.”

“Only for you,” Jake responds.

—-

A few days later, you’re staring at a large frat. It’s your first time seeing the Enhypen frat up close during the daytime. You wouldn’t even be able to tell Enhypen throws massive raging parties from judging the outside appearance of the frat. The grass is neatly cut, and the bushes growing around the perimeter are groomed to near perfection. Someone obviously has a bit of a green thumb in the frat.

You walk up the porch steps and knock on the bright red door that feels rough beneath your knuckles. It doesn’t take long for the door to swing open, revealing Jungwon Yang. You know quite a bit about Jungwon Yang, since Wonyoung grew up with Jungwon and you’re Wonyoung’s best friend. It surprises you how many mutual friends you and Jungwon share, yet you’ve never once spoken to him.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jungwon greets, pulling the door open wider to allow you in. “Jake’s in his room.”

“Hey, Jungwon,” you greet back, letting the boy shut the door behind you. You slide off your shoes and straighten up. “Where is Jake’s room?”

“I’ll show you. How are your classes going?” Jungwon makes conversation as he leads you through the spacious frat. It’s clear to you that this is a legacy frat. Everything screams wealth. You feel sorely out of place, but you’ll prefer to keep these thoughts to yourself.

“They’re going good. A lot of work, but I like it. It keeps me busy.”

“I’ve never been this busy,” Jungwon says with a small smile. He climbs the stairs, you following closely behind. “Didn’t you go to Jake’s room during the last party?”

“I don’t remember,” you admit sheepishly. “That whole night feels like a fever dream. I was really nervous the entire time.”

Jungwon nods his head. “You know, from what Won told me about you, I never expected you and Jake to date. You two seem like total opposites. I hope you don’t take offense.”

“None taken,” you tell Jungwon. “And I have to admit, I felt the same way, but somehow the words ring true; opposites do attract. We work well with each other.” You don’t know where this load of bullshit was coming from, but anything to make Jungwon believe what you have with Jake is real.

The door to the bathroom swings open and Sunoo Kim steps out. Your heart pounds in your ears as Sunoo’s sharp eyes latch onto your figure. The older boy genuinely intimidates you. His facial features are incredibly sharp, and his words are even sharper. He holds grudges for a long time, and he’s a known gossiper. Sunoo’s reputation across campus is an intimidating one, but you also know from Wonyoung that he’s one of the nicest, kindest, and cutest boys she knows. “Don’t let his resting bitch face scare you,” Wonyoung advised. “He’s just fiercely loyal and protective of his friends, that’s why he has that reputation.”

“Hello, Y/N,” Sunoo says.

“Hey, Sunoo.” Your hands begin to sweat. God, sorry Wonyoung, you think. But Sunoo scares me.

“Here to see Jake?” Sunoo asks you, not unkindly.

You nod your head. “He invited me over to study. I have a test tomorrow.”

“I don’t think you’ll get much studying done with Jake,” Sunoo states, and once again, he wasn’t being mean or judgy. It just seems like a simple observational statement -- he knows Jake better than you, having grown up with the older boy. “Keep the noise down.”

Your cheeks flush and Jungwon snorts. “No need to be so bitchy, Sunoo.”

“Sunghoon used up all my face wash,” Sunoo groans, his face transforming into a pout you’ve never seen the boy wear. He looks extremely soft and squishable and Wonyoung’s words about Sunoo bounce around your head. Maybe you truly don’t have a reason to be so afraid of the older boy.

Immediately, your hand goes for the shoulder bag you were carrying, and you pull out the newly bought face wash that was haphazardly lying about. “Here,” you hold out your face wash. “Take this.”

Sunoo stares at your outstretched hand. “We use the same face wash brand! Do you just carry your face wash around with you everywhere?” Sunoo’s gaze pierces your soul and you immediately flush bright red. You really need to get your blushing situation under control.

“I -- I don’t carry it around with me. I just stopped by the quick mart on the way here to buy it since I had run out of it. But here, you can take it. I’ll just buy another on my way home.”

“Really?” Sunoo asks.

“Yes,” you shake the face wash in the air. “Take it.”

Sunoo’s face splits into a grin, completely transforming all his sharp edges into soft edges. Sunoo’s truly a different person when he smiles. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re very kind.”

“It’s nothing,” you mumble.

A door at the end of the hall is wrenched open and Jake pops his head out, eyes focusing on the group of three standing around the bathroom. “What’s taking you so long?” Jake groans. “I miss my girlfriend. Stop hogging her.”

“Whatever Jake,” Sunoo scoffs. He steps back into the bathroom. “I hope to see you around often, Y/N,” Sunoo tells you with a smile, and then he shuts the bathroom door.

“There’s Jake’s room,” Jungwon tells you, pointing to Jake. “Play some music if you’re going to do something other than studying.” Jungwon leaves you a blushing mess in the middle of the hallway.

“Y/N!” Jake calls, beckoning you over eagerly.

With quick steps, you reach Jake in milliseconds. Jake grins down at you and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Pulling away, you look at Jake with a frown. “What was that for? There’s no one around.”

Jake pulls you into his room in lieu of an answer, shutting the door with a thump. “Was Sunoo nice to you?”

You nod your head and drop your shoulder bag onto Jake’s desk. “I gave him my face wash. I think I scored some points with him for that.”

“You had face wash in your bag?” Jake asks, grabbing his football and leaping onto his bed, beginning to throw the football up into the air and catching it.

“I bought some on the way over. I was running out,” you answer, pulling out the chair at Jake’s desk and taking a seat. “Are you going to study?”

“Eventually,” Jake responds. “Did you finish making that playlist?” He pushes himself into a sitting position, gripping the football tightly and displaying an excited expression on his face.

You can’t help but smile. “I did. Want to see?”

Jake nods his head, his blond hair flopping messily. You pull out your phone, unlock it and pull up the Spotify playlist, handing your phone over to Jake. “You can scroll through as I study,” you tell Jake. “Let me know what you think. I added a lot of songs.”

“Woah. Forty-eight hours,” Jake looks at you. “That is a lot of songs.”

You grin, running a hand through your hair to tie it up. “I guess that means you’re legally obliged to hang out with me for forty-eight hours.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Jake grins back.

Silence embraces the room and for once, it’s not awkward. You easily get enraptured in your studying, hearing Jake ooh or ahh or let out a small giggle as he scrolls through the playlist you made solely for Jake to play whenever you’re in the car with him.

After some time, Jake finally speaks up. “I really like the playlist, Y/N.”

You spin around in Jake’s desk chair. “Really?”

Jake nods his head. “I can’t wait to play it.”

“I’m glad. It took me a couple of days to curate. I’m happy you like it.”

“Of course, you made it, Y/N, so that means I’ll like it instantly.”

You groan and fall back into the desk chair. “Shut the fuck up, Jake.” Your tone was clearly teasing, and you’re glad Jake is able to make out the teasing because he laughs loudly.

“Was Jungwon nice to you as well?” Jake asks as he places your phone back on his desk. “Because sometimes he says shit without realizing how harsh it is.”

“He was nice as well, no need to fret, Jake. If they’re your friends I like them immediately.”

As you wait for Jake’s response, a loud banging sound floats through the air, followed by someone shouting a familiar name. “HEESEUNG!” Someone shouts after banging loudly. It’s quiet for a few seconds before the banging and shouting start again.

Jake groans and you leap up to open his door, curious to see who was making a ruckus. You scan the hallway and catch sight of a young boy who was incredibly tall. His blond hair glows brightly and he has a baseball bat and glove tucked beneath the arm that wasn’t doing the knocking.

“Cut it out, Riki,” Jake groans exasperatedly.

“No. He didn’t show up to play baseball with me,” Riki grumbles, continuing to smack the door.

“He spent his entire night revising his thesis with Jeongin and Beomgyu,” Jake responds. “Let him rest.”

Riki finally looks over at Jake, ready to respond, but when he sees you everything seems to pause. Riki stops smacking the door and the words poised at the tip of his tongue slide off. “Woah, is that Y/N? Your girlfriend?” He squints and assesses you. “You could do better than Jake, you know, Y/N.”

“Riki you better shut the fuck up,” Jake threatens.

“You play baseball?” You ask Riki.

“What does it look like?” Riki responds snappily.

“Riki,” hisses Jake.

“Yes,” Riki responds, his tone much nicer albeit exaggerating for Jake’s sake. “I play baseball.”

“That’s cool. Could I play with you?”

“What?” Riki looks bemused like he’d never thought you would offer to play baseball with him.

“Heeseung’s obviously sleeping and you probably shouldn’t disturb him because writing a thesis is hell on earth, so why not play catch with me? I used to play softball for my high school.”

“Softball and baseball are different, though,” Riki deadpans.

“Not really,” you shrug, stepping out of Jake’s room. “The only differences are the gloves, balls, bats, and how you throw the pitches. Other than that, everything is the same. In fact, I used to play baseball with the kids in my neighborhood, and with my cousins whenever I hung out with my family.”

“But you don’t have a glove.”

“I do,” Jake says. “Just play with her, Riki.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs. We’ll head to the baseball pitch.” Riki slinks down the stairs and you pop back into Jake’s room, watching the older boy rummage around for his baseball glove.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N,” Jake tells you.

“I want to,” you reply, “if it gives Heeseung more time to rest and keeps Riki distracted -- by the way who even is Riki?”

Jake finds his baseball glove with a triumphant smile. He chucks it to you as he says, “Some kid we picked up off the street. You better hurry downstairs, Riki doesn’t like to be kept waiting. He’s very impatient.” Then, with a shake of his head, Jake mutters, “Teenagers.”

“Aren’t you gonna come down?” You ask Jake. “It would be nice to have you with us.”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you guys there. I need to find my cap.”

“Alright, see ya soon baby,” you salute Jake and walk out of his room, bounding down the stairs and finding Rik waiting for you. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” you tell the boy, hurriedly slipping on your shoes.

Riki shrugs. “It’s fine.”

You step out of the house and walk to the baseball pitch in silence. You find out the baseball pitch is only a few minutes away from the Enhypen frat. It was built next to a park, so there were a few kids playing on the playground.

“You’re Jake’s new girlfriend, huh?” Riki finally says something as you both warm up. You don’t know how you’re going to play baseball with Riki, so you just follow whatever warm-ups he does.

“Yeah,” you respond. “And you’re his friend?”

“Obviously.”

“How old are you?”

“I turned eighteen last week on Friday.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh shit, Jake and I went out last Friday. Sorry for stealing him from you.”

Riki shrugs. “It’s chill. We hung out before and after his date.” You lapse into silence once more. “I like you better than his previous girlfriend,” Riki takes you by surprise as he grabs his bat and practices swinging a few times. “She was really rude. You’re not rude.”

“Thank you?”

“She never played baseball. Always said it would ruin her manicure.” He glances at your nails. “Aren’t you afraid of ruining your manicure?”

“I’m going to my nail tech next week. I don’t really care. Plus it gets tiring wiping your ass with a manicure sometimes.”

Riki stares at you and you immediately regret saying what you said seconds ago. Riki snorts, “You’re so much better than Francesa. She hated it when we would have farting contests.”

You stare at Riki in disbelief. This kid you think. “You’re still in high school aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” Riki asks.

“You’re still having fart contests.”

Riki scowls.

—-

“Do you have to throw a party for literally every single accomplishment?” You ask Jake, finding yourself back at Enhypen on a Saturday night. Wonyoung was dancing with Sunghoon on the dance floor while you and Jake rested against one of the walls, observing the party.

“Throwing parties is fun, Y/N,” Jake responds. “Especially if you’re celebrating the end of exam week and the start of winter break.”

“I guess celebrating the end of exam week is worth throwing a party.” You sip the alcoholic drink Jake got for you, and watch as Wonyoung laughs over something Sunghoon said. “Wanna go to your room?”

Jake raises his eyebrows and you roll your eyes. “You look tired, Jake, and you aren’t engaging in conversations like you usually do at parties. Let’s just go to your room to talk for a bit.”

“Alright,” Jake shrugs, taking your hand and pulling you up the stairs. You ignore the looks that are being thrown your way. Not everything is about getting laid.

Entering Jake’s bedroom, some sense of comfort embraces you and you feel relieved at the sudden change in environment. Everything feels much nicer in Jake’s room, even if you could still hear the music, albeit muffled.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jake asks, as you both peel off your shoes and slip beneath his light blue comforter, legs immediately tangling beneath it.

“Tell me about your childhood,” you answer. “You haven’t really told me anything.”

“Of course. You’ll tell me about yours after?”

“Any questions you have, I’ll answer honestly,” you grin.

“I would say my childhood was like any other, but I was born into a wealthy family with a trust fund already waiting for me when I turned eighteen,” Jake starts off, making you giggle lightly. “I don’t necessarily have a lot of happy memories of my childhood. But the ones I have only mostly involve my older brother, Jaehyun.”

“What’s your happiest memory with him?”

“Probably when I was six and he was ten, our nanny took us down to the beach. I remember staying at the beach for hours at a time whenever we went. There was also this small forest of trees a little bit further down the beach, and my brother and I would always explore in the small forest, picking up sticks and pretending to hunt down aliens that were planning to take over the world. Time always slipped away from us.”

You watch as Jake floats away from you. It’s like he’s in a different dimension as he recites this story to you, a gentle, happy look you’ve never seen appearing on his face.

“And this one time, it started to rain while my brother and I were playing in this forest, and we got lost. My brother found us some shelter under this large tree, and I started freaking out but my brother comforted me. He told me that he was going to take care of me, no matter what. I stopped crying after that and trusted everything my brother told me and we eventually made it out of the forest. My nanny was worried sick about us, and we never went back to that beach.”

Jake is brought back to you and smiles. “We were lost for fifteen minutes, Y/N, and for ten of those minutes, I was genuinely happy because I had my brother with me, guiding me through life. Jaehyun has always wanted the best for me and has always supported me in all of my endeavors. I don’t have a lot of people like him in my life.”

“That’s really sweet, Jake, I’m glad you have someone like that in your life.”

“Anything else you want to know, Y/N?” Jake asks.

“How did you meet the boys in Enhypen? Did you know any of them before coming to college?”

Jake laughs. “Obviously it’ll take us days for me to explain my close relationship with all thirty of us, but I’ll tell you about my closest friends. The ones you’ve met already.”

“I love a good story,” you say eagerly, pulling the comforter up higher.

“I grew up with Jay and Sunghoon. Our families were closely intertwined, so it just made sense for us to grow up together. They’re like my brothers. I met Heeseung and Sunoo in elementary school. I had heard a lot about Heeseung from Jay since they’re like, distantly related or something, and Sunoo was a friend Sunghoon made while learning how to figure skate. I got along well with them as well, so we all began hanging out. I met Jungwon and Riki in middle school. Riki is the son of one of Jay’s dad’s business partners in Japan. He came to Korea during the summer and stayed with Jay. He eventually applied for a transfer program when he was sixteen, so that’s why he’s around now. Jungwon is just some kid Jay latched on to during Taekwondo practice and never let go.”

“That sounds a lot like a found family novel I would find in a library,” you tease. “But it’s really sweet how you all found each other.”

“I guess it is. They’re my lifelong brothers. But, enough about me. What about you, Y/N? What was your childhood like?”

“It was normal,” you reply, teasing Jake who rolls his eyes. “I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, which I was fine with. I liked being left alone. I think I was just scared of making friends because they might leave me like my father did. But, I don’t feel that way anymore. I’ve made a lot of friends since arriving at college.”

“What’s your happiest memory?”

“Right now, my happiest memory is meeting Wonyoung for the first time,” you tell Jake. “I was so scared moving out of home, and I was scared that I wouldn’t…experience the world my mom talked about whenever she brought up her college years, but I met Wonyoung during move-in day, and I think my life has changed.” You nudge Jake’s shoulder, “you know, if I hadn’t met Wonyoung, I don’t think we would’ve met.”

“Crazy how the world works,” Jake says.

“Very crazy,” you agree. “Did you sleep with plushies when you were younger?”

Jake shakes his head. “Nah, did you?”

A timid smile spreads across your face. “Yeah. I slept with a lot of plushies. I guess I just liked having something to hug and keep me warm while I slept.”

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jake coos, pinching your nose.

“Fuck off, Jake.”

There’s a long silence before Jake starts to talk again. “You know, we’ve known each other for a week and I’ve told you more about myself than most people close to me know.”

You look at Jake in surprise. “Really?”

Jake nods his head. “It’s...easy talking to you, Y/N.”

“I could say the same about you,” you murmur.

“I guess,” Jake starts slowly, leaning forward, his hand cupping your cheek, “we were meant to meet.” His lips are a whisper away from yours. “It’s our fate.” And then he’s kissing you. It’s a gentle kiss, a kiss unlike any you’ve had before. Jake doesn’t make any move to rush the kiss, and you don’t either. You’re both perfectly content to take your time kissing each other.

Jake breaks away and shifts your positioning so you’re half on top of him. He cups your cheek again, pulling you back in for a soft kiss, while his other arm wraps around your waist. Both of your hands are threaded through Jake’s hair, and all you can hear is Little Mix’s Love Me Like You.

—-

The cold of the ice rink hits you suddenly. A chill zips up your spine, and you grip Jake’s hand tighter. It was the first day of winter break, and you and Jake were on a double date with Yunjin and Heeseung. You’d all agreed to go ice skating for the date.

“When was the last time you went ice skating, Y/N?” Yunjin makes conversation as Jake and Heeseung talk about some Pokemon game they had played recently. Yunjin looked pretty today. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, with a few strands curling around her face, and her makeup was light. She was wearing cute pink leg warmers that you eyed with envy.

“Probably when I was…fifteen? I think we went ice skating for a school trip,” you respond. “What about you? When was the last time you went ice skating?”

“A couple weeks back,” Yunjin says smiling. “Heeseung likes to ice skate so we often swing by when we have nothing to do.”

“You’re probably really good then.”

Yunjin laughs. “I’m mediocre at best. Heeseung’s really good though. But, then again, Heeseung’s good at everything.”

“Talking shit about Heeseung again, Yunjin?” Jake asks, joining in on the conversation.

“Yes, because that’s all I do, Jake,” Yunjin retorts sardonically.

“Do you know what size skates you wear, baby?” Jake directs his attention on you, his nose a light red already.

“Um, maybe a six?”

“Woah, you have small hands and feet,” Jake exclaims.

“Rude,” you whack Jake’s chest with your free hand.

“No, it’s cute,” Jake says with a small smile. “You’re super cute, Y/N.” He kisses the tip of your nose and lets go of your hand. “I’ll go with Heeseung to get your skates. Go find us a place to sit.”

Yunjin snakes her arm around yours and pulls you away from Jake, laughing loudly at something Heeseung had whispered to her.

“You and Jake are so cute,” Yunjin says when you finally lay claim on a row of chairs. “You’ve only been dating for what? Two weeks? And you’re already this cute?” Yunjin sighs, “The honeymoon phase is the best part of a relationship. Hee and I have been dating for…woah has it been two years already? We’ve been dating for two years and I don’t think we’ve left the honeymoon stage yet.”

“Yeah,” you agree, not really knowing what else to say.

“How did you meet Jake again?”

“Oh, at one of Enhypen’s parties. We both had shitty nights -- I had a failed date and Jake got accused of giving someone chlamydia -- and we comforted each other. Jake likes to say we had an immediate connection, so he wasted no time in asking me out.”

“Aww,” Yunjin coos, “love at first sight! I wish I got to experience that. Heeseung held a grudge against me for the longest time before he ever admitted his feelings to me.”

“Heeseung holds grudges?” You were pleasantly surprised. “He doesn’t seem like the type to hold grudges.”

“I was a special case, apparently,” Yunjin jokes. “But really, Heeseung’s the sweetest, most romantic guy I’ve ever dated.” Her eyes dart over your shoulder, and her grin only gets wider. “Jake’s a really good guy too, if you give him a chance.” She looks back at you and reaches out to squeeze your shoulder. “And it looks like you are giving him a chance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this happy.”

You don’t have time to respond, because Jake takes a seat beside you, dumping your skates onto your lap. “Here you go. Do I get a thank you kiss?”

“If you insist,” you grumble, leaning forward to lay a quick peck on Jake’s lips. “Now help me put them on.”

Yunjin and Heeseung head onto the ice first, leaving you alone with Jake as he laces up his skates after helping you. You nudge Jake’s knee with your own, a sly smile slipping onto your face. “We have a love at first sight story, huh? Does this mean you loove me?”

“Damn,” Jake curses, “how did you find out? Was it that easy to tell?” A smile that matches the one you are wearing slips onto Jake’s face. “Jungwon told me I was being too obvious.”

You snicker and wrap your hands around Jake’s bicep, inching forward to rest your head on his shoulder. “Well, there’s no need to be nervous, Jake, because I love you too, my sweet sugar plum.”

“Sweet sugar plum? Where did that come from?”

“You don’t like it?” You ask, pouting slightly.

“I hate it.”

You turn your head to muffle your giggles against Jake’s shoulder.

“Y/N, you know I won’t leave you, right?” Jake asks in a soft tone.

“Hmm? Where did this come from, Jake?” You pull your head away from Jake’s shoulder to look at him.

“I was just thinking about what you told me on Saturday,” Jake admits. “I’m not gonna leave you, Y/N.”

“Even after our break up?” You don’t like how insecure you sound. “We’ll still be friends after our break up?”

Jake nods his head. “Of course.”

You smile, kissing Jake’s cheek. “Great. Let’s go skating now, Jakey, I need an excuse to hold your hand for a few hours.”

Jake lets you pull him up from the chair. “You could just ask to hold my hand, Y/N.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You reply, grinning eagerly.

—-

“Why are we carving pumpkins, again?” You ask your sister. It was Christmas Eve and you were sitting at the dining table with a large pumpkin parked in front of you. Your younger sister was sitting next to you, tongue poking out of her mouth as she concentrated on carving her pumpkin.

“Because you weren’t home for Halloween,” your sister responds, not taking her eyes off her pumpkin.

“Halloween was three months ago, Mye. It’s Christmas Eve, shouldn’t we be helping Mama in the kitchen?”

“We are!” Myeong refutes. “We’re making decorations!”

You throw Myeong a pointed look. “Carving pumpkins? For Christmas decorations?”

Myeong scowls. “No need to be such a grinch, Y/N. Sorry I missed carving pumpkins with you.”

You sigh and place down your scalp. “I missed carving pumpkins with you too, Myeong.”

Your younger sister turns to you, her eyes soft and wide. She reminds you of a baby deer. “Really?”

You nod your head and Myeong breaks out into a grin, throwing her arms around you and hugging you tightly. “It feels so lonely at home without you, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re back home for winter break.”

You hug your sister back tighter. “Me too. I missed you and Mama a lot. Especially her food. I mostly eat ramen and toast.”

Your sister giggles and draws out of the hug and starts to carve her pumpkin again. “What is college like, Y/N? Have you made any friends?’ Myeong wiggles her eyebrows, “Have you gotten a boyfriend?”

You snort. “A boyfriend?” You try to ignore your cheeks heating up. “Are you crazy, Myeong? I have no time for a boyfriend. I did make some friends, though.”

“Oh yes, that Wonyoung Jang girl?”

“How do you know about her?”

“You posted her on your Instagram story a couple of times, Y/N,” your sister deadpans, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, right. But yeah, Wonyoung’s my friend. And all her friends are my friends as well.” You don’t know why your chest swells with pride when you mention your friends. “I have a large friend group, Mye.”

Myeong smiles. She looks genuinely happy for you. “I’m glad, Y/N.”

You turn back to your pumpkin and continue to carve in silence. Your mother was in the kitchen, humming away to whatever song was on the radio as she baked some Christmas cookies. The warm cheer of Christmas wraps you up warmly. You were happy to be back home with your mother and sister, carving a pumpkin while your mother made cookies a few feet away. You were afraid leaving for college would change everything, but it had changed nothing.

“But, seriously Y/N,” Myeong breaks the silence, “you have had to at least kiss a guy at one of the parties you went to with Wonyoung!”

“Well, I did,” You drop your voice and lean in closer. “Lose my virginity.”

Myeong gasps loudly, your mother looking up from where she was placing cookie dough on a tray. “Everything okay, girls?”

“Yes,” you say, smiling. You look at Myeong who was staring at you, completely taken by surprise at your confession.

“Really?”

You nod your head.

“What was it like?”

You blush and bury your head in your hands. “Myeong -- why -- why would you ask me that?”

Myeong shrugs. “Curiosity.”

“It was fine,” you grumble. “It was just a hook-up, though, and I haven’t had sex since then.”

Myeong pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“No, I’m just choosing to be safe. College parties are swarming with STDs.” Your phone begins to ring loudly, cutting off your mother’s humming and Myeong’s words. You steal a glance at who was calling you -- Jake’s contact name fills your screen and you can’t control the large smile that graces your face.

“I’ll be back,” you tell Myeong. “I have to take this.” Grabbing your phone, you exit the dining room and start up the stairs to your room. “Hey,” you greet Jake, pressing your phone to your ear. “What’s up?”

“Y/N, hey,” Jake’s voice is soft as he talks. “How are you?”

“I’m doing good. What about you?”

Jake sighs. “Well, I would like to leave, but I promised my mom and dad that I would stay for their Christmas dinner and I like to keep my promises, so.” If Jake were standing in front of you now, he would end his sentence with a shrug. Instead, he punctuates this sentence with another sigh.

“That sucks,” you murmur, shutting your bedroom door, and resting against it. “What is so awful about this Christmas dinner anyway?”

“It’s not really a Christmas dinner,” Jake explains. “It’s a business dinner, under the guise of a company Christmas dinner. My dad’s investors bring their families to our house for this Christmas dinner, but all they do is talk business while their wives make small talk and the kids sit at the table and eat in silence. Jay used to come, but his father wised up and decided to go on vacation during Christmas, which upset my father for a few years.”

“That is awful.”

“But it’s only for one night,” Jake sounds defeated. “What about you? What do you do for Christmas?”

“Not a lot,” you tell Jake. And it was true -- your family didn’t do a lot for Christmas. You all woke up quite late on Christmas since you and Myeong were no longer kids and the thrill of opening presents was slowly wearing off. Your mother made some pancakes for breakfast, and then the three of you headed down to afternoon mass. You weren’t religious, but your mother liked going so you and your sister accompanied her. You know how often your mother used to pray back when you were younger and she was fighting tooth and nail to keep her family afloat.

After mass, you would stop by a few shops to just pick up extra miscellaneous items. Then your mother would begin Christmas dinner prep and your relatives from your mother’s side would start turning up as soon as it hits 4 PM. They usually stay as late as midnight.

“That sounds….a lot more fun than my Christmas,” Jake laughs softly.

“It is fun,” you reply, laying down on your bed and staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you and Myeong stuck on your ceiling years ago. “After dessert, we all watch The Santa Clause trilogy.”

“I remember you telling me about that,” Jake hums. “I’ve never seen those movies, what are they about?”

“I don’t want to spoil anything, Jake,” you tease. “We’ll just have to watch them together at some point.”

“I’ll take you up on that, Y/N,” Jake’s tone was just as teasing. “I should let you get back to whatever it was you were doing before I called. I just wanted to hear your voice before I went insane inside this house.”

“Call me whenever Jake. I’ll always pick up.”

“Okay, I will. Talk later, Y/N.”

“Bye, Jake.”

—-

It was a little past eight when Jake calls you again. It’s Christmas, and you’re sitting at the dining table with your relatives. Dinner was served a couple of hours ago, but the conversation at the table was too good for anybody to think about cleaning up the mess displayed in front of you.

Your Uncle and Aunts were still helping themselves to the last bits of your mom’s lasagna. Dessert still had to be served, and your mother was looking for a way out of the conversation she was having with your grandmother.

Your phone cuts through the conversation you were having with your cousin.

“Who’s calling you, Y/N?” Your cousin, Lila, asks, trying to take a peek at your phone.

“Oh, it’s no one. I’ll be right back,” you sneak out of the dining hall and down to your bedroom. “Jake, hey.”

“Y/N, sorry if I disturbed you from your movie watching,” Jake greets.

“No, we’re still eating,” you assure Jake. “What’s up?”

“I-- I was wondering -- ah fuck, I don’t know how to ask this,” Jake admits.

“Just ask,” you encourage. “It’s okay, Jake. It’s just me.”

“Do you think I could come over? To your house?”

“Oh, Jake.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to say yes. I’m sorry for asking, I just can’t be here. I just can’t do it. No one else would pick up. I’m sorry for asking, Y/N.”

“It’s okay, Jake. And you’re more than welcome to come over. My mama feeds all my friends that set foot in this house. I’ll send you my address.” Your heart hurts for Jake. You can’t imagine how awful it must be for Jake to be in a house that doesn’t feel like home.

“Thank you, Y/N. Really.”

“Don’t mention it. Just arrive safely, ok? And text me when you’re leaving.”

“Okay. See you soon, Y/N.” The line goes dead before you can respond. You share your location with Jake, and pocket your phone, padding back downstairs to the dining room. Your mother had finally been able to leave the conversation with your grandmother and was now in the kitchen, dumping empty plates in the sink and fixing dessert onto fresh, clean, plates.

“Mama,” you step into the kitchen, keeping your voice low. “My friend from college is coming over. I hope that’s okay, he needed -- he needed to get away from his family for a while.”

“What’s his name?” Your mother asks, looking up from where she was plating the Christmas cookies she had made while you were carving the pumpkins.

“Jake Sim. He’s…my friend.”

“Jake Sim? Does he have any relations with Hana and Jaeho Sim? The CEO of Sim Corporations?”

You smile wanly. “They’re his parents, mama.”

“Then, he’s more than welcome inside my house, Y/N. I went to school with his parents, I know how tough they can be.” Your mother shakes her head. “They were both forces to be reckoned with at college.”

“You knew them?” You ask, surprised.

“Of course, I know them, Y/N. Everyone knew everybody back then. Should I set out a plate for him at the table?”

You look at the already crowded table. Myeong laughs loudly with one of your aunts. “Do we even have room for another chair?”

“We can make room,” your mother answers with a sly smile. “Do you know if he’s had dinner yet? Because I don’t want to just serve him dessert while he’s here.”

“Uh, I’ll ask him when he gets here.” Your phone dings with a text. You had two unread texts, both from Jake. One was sent eight minutes ago, telling you he’s left. The most recent one was Jake telling you he’d just parked. You wonder how close Jake lived if he was only an eight-minute drive away.

“He’s here,” you tell your mom, just as there’s a knock at the door.

“Go answer, I’ll make some room.”

You nod your head and turn away, eyes widening as Myeong rises from her chair. “I’ll get it!” You shriek, dashing out of the kitchen and down to the door. You throw the door open and your eyes widen at the sight of Jake.

“Y/N, hey,” Jake grins.

“Jake -- your -- your hair.”

It was black. His hair was black. You struggle to organize your thoughts as your eyes drag down the rest of his body. Jake was clearly dressed up for some formal event. He was wearing blue jeans with a white buttoned-up blouse tucked in, accentuating his waist, and a navy blue blazer.

“Decided to go back to black,” Jake answers with a grin. “Maintaining my blonde hair was tiring.” He peers over your shoulder. “Can I come in? Or did your mother --”

You shush Jake and step onto the porch, letting the front door fall shut. “No, you’re welcome in. I just -- I told them we were friends. They don’t know we’re….y’know? It just -- it just gets tiring lying all the time, and I don’t like lying to my mama and Myeong and --”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Jake cuts you off. “I think it’ll be nice to not have to act like we’re dating for once.”

“Okay,” you smile relieved. “My mama knew your parents in college.”

“Really?” Jake asks.

“Yeah, she was more than willing to let you spend Christmas with us.”

“I already love your mom.”

“Alright, come on in, Prince Charming. Ready to meet my family?”

Jake adjusts his blazer and you have to pretend like your heart didn’t speed up. “I was born ready,” and for the final kill, he runs a hand through his hair. You almost faint on the spot. Since when was Jake this attractive to you? I mean, obviously, he was handsome, but you’ve never felt your heart palpitate like this before.

You’ve never seen your family so still and silent the moment you step into their line of sight with Jake. “Is that your boyfriend, Y/N?” One of your cousins teases you, earning a couple of snickers from your other cousins.

“Uh, no. This is Jake Sim. He’s my -- my friend from college. His parents are overseas at the moment, so I invited him over for dinner. Sorry he’s late, you know how assessments get during winter break.”

“He’s very handsome, Y/N. Are you sure you’re just friends?” One of your aunts asks, out of pure curiosity.

You flush bright red. “Aunty!”

“It was just an innocent question, dear,” your uncle, and her husband, defends. “Come join us, Jake. Have you had dinner yet?”

Jake smiles politely, taking a seat in the new chair that was beside yours. You steal a glance at your mother who smiles back smugly. “I have had dinner,” Jake responds. “My mom bought me some samgyeopsal before she left.” He plays along with the cover story you made up for him.

“Oh no, samgyeopsal won’t do you any good, honey,” your mother cuts in. “Do you like lasagna?”

“I love lasagna,” Jake responds, his eyes twinkling.

Your mother hpmhs, “You should have some of my lasagna. My lasagna is the best lasagna in all of America.”

“Too bad Aunt Yeeun ate it all,” snickers your cousin, Daisy.

“Too bad, indeed,” your mother says, glaring at her older sister.

Yeeun pokes out her tongue in retaliation, and the whole table dissolves into laughter. You glance at Jake, who stares back and smiles, his foot nudging yours beneath the table. “It’s okay, Mrs. L/N. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

“Call me Areum, honey,” your mother says, flushing. “And are you sure? I’m sure I could find something that wasn’t eaten by my good-for-nothing siblings.”

Grumbles are heard but your mother pays no attention to them. “If I can’t find anything, then I’ll have to serve you dessert. Will you be okay with eating my Christmas cookies? They won Y/N’s middle school’s Christmas fair baking competition three years in a row. However, when Myeong brought them to the fair, they decided that darn Dana’s cookies were better. I’m pretty sure the judges were being biased. Or racist --”

“I’m hungry,” Myeong interrupts, whining. “Fuss over Jake later! Let’s go serve everyone dessert now!” Myeong leaps out of her chair, sending you a look, before tugging on Areum’s arm. “Come on, mama! Jake can decide for himself if he wants to eat or not.”

Your mother sighs. “Alright. I’ll be back with dessert.”

The table launches into conversations with your mother gone, bombarding Jake with questions to which he answers all with ease. Beside you, Lila nudges you. “Was he the one who called you?”

You nod your head. “Yeah.”

Lila smirks. “Just friends, huh?”

You groan and kick her shin beneath the table. “Shut the fuck up.”

—-

The rest of dinner is spent happily. Jake easily converses with your relatives, and it seems like he gets along well with all of them. You hate the way your heart flutters at that thought. As Jake had said, it was almost like he was born to please your relatives, based on the way they smile whenever Jake responds to them with great enthusiasm.

Even your younger cousins enjoy Jake’s presence. He distracts them as the adults clean up and get ready for the movie marathon with pictures of his dog, Layla. He also plays them a couple of videos which gets your entire family cooing over the dog.

You sit in the corner of the living room, with a slight frown on your face. The older cousins were all hanging out together, thankful someone else was willingly distracting the younger ones. “Why the frown, Y/N?” Myeon asks you, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” you answer, schooling your expression into a neutral one.

“Jake Sim, he’s the son of that one CEO, right? Sim Corporations, or something?” One of your cousins, Daniel, asks.

“Yeah,” you nod your head.

“Damn,” whistles Daniel, “through Jake, you basically have connections to the entire corporate world, Y/N.”

“Good thing I’m not a business major,” you retort.

“But I will be next year,” Daniel responds. “Do you think --”

“If you want to use Jakes’s connections, you have to get buddy-buddy with him, Daniel. I’m not your lapdog.”

Daniel huffs. “Fine, loser.”

You grip the armchair pillow and whack Daniel with it. “I’m not a loser, freak.”

“Alright,” your uncle claps his hands loudly, “let’s get this marathon on the road! Adults, help yourself to some eggnog, minors, there’s some soda and juices for you. And yes, Daniel, we got you your gross dill pickle chips.”

Chaos descends as everyone fights for the best seats, the best drinks, and the best snacks. You’re content with staying in the armchair in the corner of the living room. It didn’t really give you the best view of the television, but you’ve seen these movies hundreds of times. You could practically recite every line of all three movies by heart.

Jake approaches you, holding two glasses of cola.

“Hey,” Jake greets, handing you one glass. “I feel like we haven’t had time to talk.”

“It seems my family is smitten with you, Jake.”

“I do seem to have that effect on everyone I meet,” Jake hums in agreement.

“Come on, let’s cuddle,” you say, pulling Jake onto the chair. “Unless you want to move closer. I know you wanted to watch these movies.”

“It’s okay,” Jake waves you off, “there’s always another Christmas to watch them with you.”

You ignore how your heart explodes, painting your body a lovesick pink.

After a lot of adjustments, you end up with your back pressed against the arm of the armchair, and your legs thrown over Jake’s lap. The first fifteen minutes of the movie had already gone by by the time you and Jake pay attention and instead of trying to catch Jake up, you ask him about his own Christmas dinner.

Jake told you it was the same Christmas dinner he’d been going to for twenty years, but it was the first time his older brother wasn’t there and Jake couldn’t handle not having his brother around, so he left.

“Thank you for having me,” Jake whispers.

“Thank you for trusting me,” you respond.

“How could I not?” Jake’s eyes were wide, “You have a trusting face.”

“Oh, so you’re friends with me for my face?” You scowl.

Jake muffles his giggles. “Yes.”

You huff and look away from Jake to watch Scott and Carol lean in to kiss beneath a mistletoe.

“Y/N,” Jake whispers. “I like you for your face and your heart.”

“Really?”

Jake nods. “Really.”

“Well, I like you for your money and your connections to the corporate world.”

“You don’t even major in business!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Y/N,” Jake gives you a pointed look and you sigh.

“Fine. I don’t like you because of your money or your connections, I like you because of your face and your heart.”

“Would you ever want to get married?”

You stare at Jake, shocked by the sudden change of topic. “What? Where did this come from, Jake?”

“My parents brought up marriage when they talked about our relationship. They said we shouldn’t date if we aren’t thinking about marriage.”

“Well, I mean,” you sigh, “if you ask nicely, then I’ll probably say yes.”

It’s silent for a few moments before Jake coughs loudly. You get stares from your sister and a few of your cousins, but you ignore them. “You -- you would want to marry me?”

“I mean --” you blink, confused. “That’s what we were talking about, right?”

“I was -- I was just asking if you want to get married. In general. Not to me.”

“Oh.” Your face flushes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jake intertwines your hands together and squeezes three times. “You’re cute when you make mistakes.”

“Shut up,” you groan.

Jake laughs softly, his eyes shining with adoration.

—-

“Do you think I could stay the night?” Jake asks you after he finishes saying goodbye to all of your relatives. The goodbyes took longer than usual because everyone was clamoring to talk to Jake. You didn’t understand all the fuss over Jake.

“Stay -- stay the night?”

“Or not. It’s okay, Y/N.”

“No --”

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night, sweetheart,” your mother cuts. “You’ll just have to share a bed with Y/N, our guest room is a bit.. preoccupied. I’ve been cleaning out the attic.”

Jake looks over at you. “I’m okay with sharing a bed. Are you? If not, I can sleep on the floor or just go home.”

You eye your mom carefully. She’s never been this open and welcoming to a boy staying the night. In your bed. “Yeah…I’m fine with it.”

“Y/N and Jake sharing a bed!” Myeong sings in a teasing voice as she bounces up the stairs. “I’ll make sure to turn on my white noise!” Both you and Jake flush a deep red while your mother scolds Myeong for her words.

“I’ll go find you some clothes, Jake,” your mother smiles warmly at the boy beside you and disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone with Jake.

“Won’t your parents be concerned about your whereabouts?” You ask Jake, leading him into the kitchen.

“I told them I was at Sunghoon’s,” Jake answers, leaning against the counter as you fill two glasses with water. He gratefully takes one of the glasses and drinks it all within seconds. “They won’t really be worried that much. They’ve never been the kind of parents to worry.”

You give Jake a gentle look and take the empty glass from him, rinsing it and making room for it in the dishwasher. “Your family is very fun,” Jake says, “they all…love each other.”

“I guess they’re fun. They can be a bit annoying and frustrating at times.”

“But you love them, though.”

“They loved you tonight, Jake.” You tell him, sensing the underlying tone of Jake’s words. You reach out to take his hand into yours as you stand at the bottom of the stairs. “You’re probably welcome to all family gatherings in the future.”

“Really?” Jake asks in slight disbelief.

“Would I lie to you, Jake? Everyone loved you tonight.”

In the darkness of the living room, standing in silence, you can feel Jake. Jake is all over you. You feel as though you’re one with Jake, and everything you think, Jake is also thinking. You feel and hear every inhale and exhale of Jake’s.

With his other hand, Jake cups your cheek, and you immediately sink into the feeling. “Y/N,” it’s like Jake is feeling the same as you. He doesn’t dare to raise his voice. “I --”

“Jake, would you like to take a shower?” Your mother stands at the top of the stairs.

You rip yourself away from Jake, clenching and unclenching your hand as your mind races. “Oh, yes, that would be nice, Areum.”

“I’ll go get you a towel,” Areum smiles and turns back around, heading for the linen closet.

Jake turns to you. “Y/N --”

“You should go take a shower, Jake.”

Jake hesitates.

“I’ll see you in my room.” You don’t think you’ll be able to handle talking to Jake alone for the rest of the night. You climb the stairs with speed, leaving Jake in the dust. Reaching your room, you pull out your phone and fire a text to Wonyoung, your heart speeding, finally realizing why yourheart races around Jake.

By the time Jake finishes his shower and stands in the doorway of your room, you’re changed and separating the bed in two halves with pillows you stole from your mom. “What are you doing?” Jake asks you, drying his hair with a yellow towel.

“When we’re sleeping, we need to stay to our sides. We can’t cross the pillow line,” you explain to Jake, slipping beneath the covers on your side.

“Why do we need halves all of a sudden?” Jake asks, throwing his towel over your desk chair. “We’ve never had halves like this when we’ve laid in bed together.”

Your face flushes. “That’s -- that’s different.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Is it?”

You scowl. “My house, my bedroom, my rules.”

Jake climbs into bed, making sure to keep to his side of the bed. “Goodnight, Y/N.” Jake gives you a sweet smile that disarms you completely.

“Fuck it,” you groan. You grab the pillows -- that had taken a lot of time to set up -- and you throw them to the ground. “I do like to cuddle things when I sleep, Jake. And since I removed my plushies for you to fit, I guess you could be a good substitute.”

Jake grins with a glint in his eyes that tells you he doesn’t believe your bluff. He opens his arms and you immediately curl up to his chest, your ear pressed to his chest, and there, you can hear his heartbeat. It’s beating rapidly and you allow your delusions to take over.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Jake says, his voice close to your ear.

“Goodnight, Jake,” you mumble back.

—-

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask Jake nervously as you sit in his car. A week after winter break ended, Jake had told you his parents wanted to meet you, and no matter how desperately you wanted to say no, you agreed to join Jake for dinner this weekend. You’re parked outside his parents’ house. It’s tall, and spiraling, and reminds you just how rich Jake was. You’re fretting over your look as if Jake hasn’t already complimented you a thousand times tonight.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” And, as always, Jake’s words of affection make you blush.

“Alright,” you say, “let’s do this.”

Jake nods and squeezes your hand before letting go.

“Remember,” Jake says in a low voice as you walk up to the front door, gravel crunching beneath the uncomfortable high-heels Wonyoung shoved you into, “we can leave. Whenever you want. We don’t have to stick around for the entire night, I’ll make up an excuse if you want to leave, okay?”

You kiss Jake’s cheek in lieu of a response.

Jake doesn’t bother to knock on the door, he just pushes it open. A multitude of shoes sit in the foyer, and you turn to Jake who is helping you take off your coat. “How big is this family dinner, exactly?”

Jake gives you a sheepish smile. “My parents, uncles and aunts, and cousins. I don’t know if Jaehyun will be here though.”

You can’t help but feel sorely underprepared for this. Why didn’t Jake let you know beforehand that you would be meeting his entire family? Your stomach rolls over at the thought, and you feel nausea wash over you. An uncomfortable itch appears in your throat -- no cough or clearing of a throat removes that itch as you walk from the foyer to the dining room where your demise awaits.

“You didn’t think to tell me?” You mumble to Jake, half anxious, half annoyed.

“It slipped my mind,” Jake murmurs back and you withhold a scoff.

You can’t help but feel intimidated as you enter the dining hall, gripping Jake’s hand tightly. His aunts, uncles, cousins, and parents mill about the room, talking and laughing forcefully with each other. The atmosphere doesn’t at all feel comfortable. It’s a weird atmosphere, it feels tense and taut.

Hyunjae is the first to spot Jake. He breaks out into a grin and approaches Jake, a girl with dyed red hair follows behind, her eyes glued to her phone as she frowns. Next to you, Jake inhales sharply and his shoulders roll back like he’s prepared for an attack.

“Jake,” Hyunjae greets, the smile not slipping from his face. He looks at you and his smile only grows. “Y/N. What a pleasure to see you both here.”

“The same can’t be said for you,” Jake responds, his voice tight.

The red-headed girl finally looks up, pocketing her phone and taking a sip of her champagne. “Jake,” her voice is soft, tinkling. You don’t think you’ve ever seen more perfect eyes, nose, and mouth on someone before. “Who are you?” She asks, out of pure curiosity. Her eyes shine and you try to search for some kind of double meaning.

“Y/N L/N,” you answer, feeling your heart tremble beneath the eyes pinned to your face. “Who are you?”

The girl laughs. It’s high and tinkling, like her voice. “I’m Francesa Choi, nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Jake’s ex-girlfriend.

“Jaeyun?” A voice calls out. You watch as an intimidating woman walks over to the group. Her eyes are piercing, and her hair is black as the night. It doesn’t take much for you to realize this woman is Jake’s mother. Lagging behind her is Jake’s father. Pepper hair, creased lines on his forehead, and a frown. You wonder how Jake is able to be who he is with parents like these.

“This must be the Y/N you talk highly of,” her eyes darted to you, and then back at Jake, like you weren’t worth her time. You try to pry your hand from Jake’s, but he only tightens his grip further. You're sure he’s cutting off blood to your hand.

Jake’s father watches you silently. He doesn’t say anything, remaining behind his wife as she does all the talking; all the commanding.

“Are you going to introduce us to her?”

Jake clears his throat. “Mom, Dad, this is Y/N L/N, Y/N, this is my mom and dad.”

Your mother’s words echo around your head. “Does he have any relations with Hana and Jaeho Sim? The CEO of Sim Corporations? I know how tough they can be. They were both forces to be reckoned with at college.”

Jake’s mother -- Hana -- gives you a short nod. “Nice to meet you, Y/N, I hope I get to know you well tonight.”

Not I hope we get to know each other well. You learn something about Hana Sim very early on. She’s the authorization figure of the Sim household. She expects you to tell her everything about you, and you get nothing in return.

Dinner is served, and with Jake to your left and his ex-girlfriend to your right, your nerves skyrocket. Jake’s ex-girlfriend is pretty -- she even smells pretty. No wonder Jake dated her. As the conversation is passed around the table, you also learn Francesa Choi is smart. She’s pretty, smart, and confident. It’s clear, by the way Hana praises and smiles at Francesa, that she’s thoroughly beguiled by the girl.

When Hana Sims speaks to you, though, it’s dull. Hana appears to look bored as she decides to make conversation with you, and for the first time that night, the table falls silent. Every Sim wants to know about you, apparently.

“How did you meet my son, Y/N?” Hana asks, picking up her wine glass.

“I told you how we met --”

“I want to hear her talk, Jaeyun,” Hana cuts off her son.

“We meet at a party,” you respond, hands curling on your lap beneath the table. Your nails dig into your palms to keep you grounded. “It was love at first sight.”

Any normal family would coo over love at first sight, but the Sim family only shares looks. Looks that are clearly laced with judgment. Beside you, Jake offers no help. He doesn’t even reach out to rest his hand on your thigh. You feel alone.

“Love at first sight?” Hana muses. “So, you love my son?”

It takes a lot of effort for you to breathe. Your chest feels heavy like there’s something crushing it. You steal a glance at Jake and he doesn’t look back, content with admiring his plate of food in front of him. Your heart pangs.

“Yes,” you say, willing the nerves out of your voice. “I love Jake.”

Hana doesn’t look impressed. “You’ve only been dating for a month.” That’s not a question -- it’s a statement. “How could you fall in love that fast?”

“He’s easy to love,” your response is almost instantaneous, your mouth working faster than your brain. Your response is honest. In a way. And that shocks and scares you.

Hana still doesn’t look impressed. “Tell me a bit about yourself, Y/N. What’s your major?”

“I’m Majoring in Linguistics. This is my first year.” Your nails dig deeper into your palms and Jake continues to offer no support.

“So you’re…eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Eighteen.”

Hana nods, reaching for her wine glass and taking a sip. The silence is suffocating. Just how nosey and judgmental was the Sim family?

“And your family?” Hana asks, “Any siblings?”

“I have a younger sister, Myeong.”

“And your parents?”

“My dad passed away when I was three, so it’s just been my mom, me, and Myeong for as long as I can remember.”

Hana’s eyes narrow. You gulp and your heart hammers away in your chest. You feel a bad omen circling the air. Whatever is said next will either be your downfall or finally impress Hana.

“Did your mom ever get remarried?”

You shake your head. “No.”

Words tumble out of Hana’s mouth, and it sounds like Korean. The ground gives out beneath your feet and your heart drops out of your body. You don’t know Korean. Your mother never had the time to teach you, and she slowly lost her mother tongue. Your father died when you were young. You grew up feeling isolated, not really understanding where you fit in; you were Korean, but you didn’t speak Korean, and you’ve never been to Korea. But you had an American citizenship, so you were American, except you didn’t look American.

“I -- I don’t know Korean,” the words tumble out of your mouth -- the words were the bad omen you felt in the air moments ago.

If possible, the silence is louder than before.

“You’re Korean,” Hana states, her voice a foreign emotion.

“My mom and dad were first-generation immigrants,” you answer, your nails beginning to cut into your palm. “But my dad died before he could teach me, and my mom was always busy with work.”

“Have you ever visited Korea?”

“No,” you respond, Hana’s eyes cutting into your bones.

“I pity you,” Hana says, her words sharp like claws. Her eyes dart to Jake, and this time her words sting. “I thought I taught you better.”

Jake’s silence stings even more.

You were able to excuse yourself to the bathroom after dinner. You grip the edge of the sink and squeeze your eyes shut tightly, suddenly longing for the embrace of your mother. Hana’s words, her eyes -- her everything has you a shuddering mess. Who knew someone could make simple words sound so cruel?

The door swings open and Francesa steps in. She smiles and steps up to the sink next to you, pulling out some lip glass from her handbag. You watch her as she applies another layer onto her lips.

“That was a hard conversation to listen to,” Francesa says, her eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

“Yeah,” you mumble, not really in the mood to talk.

“It takes a lot to impress Hana.”

“Clearly.”

Francesa pats your shoulder. “I’m sure you will find something to impress Hana with.” You don’t know why but it sounds so condescending. “But I’m not surprised to see Jake hasn’t changed.” Francesa laughs to herself, finding something funny.

“What are you laughing about?” You ask Francesa.

“When we were dating, I was exactly like you when meeting his family. He threw you in the deep end, didn’t he? Told you were meeting his parents, but actually took you to a family dinner? And when his mother was grilling me, he was silent -- just like tonight.” Francesa sighs, turning to you. “He doesn’t have the guts to talk back to his parents. His older brother did, and that’s why he’s not at family dinners anymore.”

“I just..” Francesa trails off. “I just hoped tonight would be different, you know? You and Jake…you guys look happy and in love and I just thought that this would be the night where Jake finally speaks up and does something about the way his mother treats people.”

Francesa shakes her head, giving you a small smile. “It’s a shame your love couldn’t change that.”

“Why would I need to change Jake?” You ask, frowning.

“Oh, Y/N.” Francesa sighs. “Whenever I would come for a family dinner, Jake would sit in silence and let Hana pick at me, probing me to reveal personal secrets and shame me for them. She wanted to mold me into the perfect wife for Jake. Whatever flaw I had, Hana would take it and cut it up into a thousand more flaws, throw it back at me, and tell me I had to fix them all or else I would never be good enough for her son. Dating Jake made me hate myself, and him, so we broke up.”

“You cheated on him, though.”

“I did,” Francesa agrees easily.

“Why?”

“Hyunjae’s nothing like Jake.”

The drive home is silent. Jake attempts to speak, but after his fifth try, he stops. Your mind was a mess, recounting Hana’s sharp words, and Francesa’s story. Everything was a mess and you felt as if you never really knew Jake.

“Y/N,” Jake tries again.

You’re sitting in his car, outside your dorm. You don’t move to leave the car. You should probably confront the tense air before it gets worse the longer you continue to ignore it. You turn to Jake, trying to keep your emotions under lock.

“Jake,” you respond. “I think we need some space. Just for a few days.”

Jake looks confused. “What do you mean, Y/N?”

“What do you mean?” Your voice is filled with rage you didn’t know you had. Watching Jake shift away, regret fills you. “Sorry, Jake. Sorry.” You look away, out the front window, and this time the tears come without warning. When you look back at Jake, you’re crying silently, the hurt inflicted by Hana filling up the space where your heart used to sit.

“If you can’t tell your mother to shut the fuck up and stop prying into my personal life, then we can’t be friends, Jake. Your silence really hurt me tonight.”

Jake’s mouth opens and closes. He doesn’t know what to say, and for some reason, that hurts you.

“You didn’t -- you didn’t even offer support, like a hand on my thigh, or a hand to hold. You left me -- you left me alone tonight, Jake.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, but he doesn’t even look like he means it. He’s still confused.

“Just -- just don’t talk to me for a couple of days. Unless we need to act like a couple for some stupid event.”

“Y/N --”

You smile sadly at Jake. “Jake, you’re meant to be in love with me. Your silence at dinner told a different story.”

You climb out of the car, close the passenger door, and walk away from Jake.

—-

Three days. You haven’t spoken to Jake in three days. You’ve kept yourself distracted by hanging out with Wonyoung and your friends and actually completing your assignments before the deadline, and handing them in once the submissions open.

Deciding to give yourself a break, you take this chance to check your phone. Youngeun had sent you something on Instagram, and so you pause the game you were playing with Rei and check Youngeun’s messages. She had sent you someone’s story. Clicking on it, you watch the story and your stomach turns over. It was Jake with Francesa.

Normally, you aren’t one for presumptions and letting miscommunication get in between your relationships with those close to you, but when it comes to Jake, you can’t help but get insecure. He’s rich, he’s popular, he’s handsome. He can have anyone he wants, and yet there you were, faking dating him. And yet, there you were, falling in love with him.

Love. That word strikes you across your face. Love. Since when were you in love with Jake?

You recall the sudden development you felt over Winter break; you like Jake. And not in a fake way. You truly like Jake and it’s messing with your brain. You can’t handle Jake’s gentle touches and kind words, and you can’t handle his kisses and flirtatious remarks. This fake relationship is driving you insane and soon you feel like you’ll snap. You fear what the consequences would be when that day comes.

But when did love come into play?

The overwhelming emotions of love and like terrorize you. You click off the story where Francesa and Jake were sharing giggles and you leave Youngeun on seen. Nausea washes over you. Maybe this temporary space needs to be a permanent space.

You excuse yourself from your group of friends and walk back to your dorm. The chilly wind whips through the air and seeps through your hoodie, chilling you to the bone. Maybe you shouldn’t get too ahead of yourself, maybe you need to give Jake the chance to explain himself. Maybe you were just overreacting. Yes, Jake had let his mother embarrass you in front of his relatives, but that shouldn’t define who he is as a person. Right? Yes, Jake was hanging out with his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him, but nothing is happening between them. Right?

Your head begins to spin.

You stumble into the dorm and crash into Ricky. “Y/N!” The platinum blond exclaims, “I was just looking for you. Someone is here to see you.”

Immediately, you think of Jake. Has Jake finally realized what he did wrong three nights ago? Has Jake realized he loves you the way you love him? “Really?”

Ricky nods his head. “They’re in the common space.”

“Thanks Ricky,” you brush past the boy and with eager footsteps, you step into the common space -- only to falter.

Jake’s mother stands in the center of the room. Your heart stops and your breath catches.

“Mrs. Sim?”

The raven-haired woman turns at the sound of you calling her. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Y/N,” she steps over to you. “Nice to see you again.” You knew these were false pleasantries. “How is college going?”

“It’s going well,” you respond stiffly. “Jake isn’t with me.”

Mrs. Sim chuckles. “Oh, I’m not here for my son.” Her eyes pin you to the spot. “I’m here to see you, Y/N. I value my son’s partners highly, and I think we should have a talk.” She gestures to the couch behind you. “Shall we sit?”

Hesitantly, you sit on the couch. Mrs. Sim relaxes in the spot next to you, and she pulls a white envelope out of her handbag and passes it over to you. “Y/N, I’ll be honest. I don’t think you’re right for my son.”

“What?” You draw your eyes away from the white envelope you were holding. “I’m not…right?”

“Korean heritage is valued highly in our family --”

“I’m Korean, Mrs. Sim.”

“But you cannot speak Korean.”

“But I can learn!” You refute.

Mrs. Sim raises her hand, silencing you. “There is more, of course. I just simply don’t think you and Jake will last. I am only saving you from heartbreak.”

“Mrs. Sim, I’m sorry but you don’t get to --”

“You feel as though you don’t belong in Jake’s world, Y/N. Am I correct?” Mrs. Sim’s eyes are narrowed as she addresses you, her voice one that commands to be listened to.

That is something you can’t refute. It’s something that had been bubbling up within you ever since that dinner -- ever since you realized just how rich Jake was. He lived and existed in a higher society you will never understand. In a society you can only dream of existing within. You don’t get the rules, and you don’t understand how to present yourself in that rich society Jake is ingrained in. You feel so out of place, and you’ve only attended a family dinner.

“With time, I think I can feel comfortable --”

“Y/N. You are not fit for my son. You should break up with him.”

You scoff. “What makes you think I would break up with Jake? I love him.”

Mrs. Sim sighs. “But does he love you? At dinner, it didn’t seem like he did. My son was more than happy to let you embarrass yourself.”

“Embarrass myself? That was -- that was your fault--”

“In that envelope is money. You should open it.”

You open it. It’s a check. Your eyes widen at the amount of money scrolled on the check. “What--what’s this for?”

“Break up with Jake and that money is yours.”

“I don’t -- I don’t want your money.” You throw the envelope on the ground. “I’m not cheap, Mrs. Sim.”

Mrs. Sim stands from the couch and brushes off her dress. “I have said what I wanted to say. I can only hope you listen to me, Y/N, and realize that you will never be the one for Jake, no matter what he says, or what you tell yourself.”

“Jake is his own person. He is twenty. He can make decisions for himself. Why are you still controlling him?”

Mrs. Sim glances over her shoulder. “My son is still green when it comes to the world. He does not know what is best for him because I sheltered him from the real world growing up.”

“He can make decisions for himself,” you repeat.

Mrs. Sim walks away.

A few hours later, with help of Wonyoung’s stalking skills and social connections, you find yourself back on Greek Row, and outside a frat house that was famous across campus because of their end-of-exams parties. Jake was at this party tonight with the rest of Enhypen.

Wonyoung was already chatting up some older college student and you head inside the frat yourself. It was already packed, horny and sweaty bodies pushing up against each other, and the smell of weed hangs suspended in the air. You start looking for Jake, and you immediately head for the back porch. You don’t find Jake there, however you find Sunghoon and Heeseung setting up a new game of beer pong. “Sunghoon! Heeseung!” You call out, rushing toward them. “Where’s Jake?”

Sunghoon beams at you. “Y/N! Hey! Jake took Sunoo to the bathroom. He’s wasted.”

“Awesome! Thanks!” You dash back into the house and climb the stairs, hoping there was a bathroom on the second floor of this frat. Pushing open every door, you only find bedrooms with two, or three people, making out on the beds. With apology after apology, your search for Jake and Sunoo and a bathroom is futile.

Then, a door at the end of the hall opens and out spills Jake and Sunoo. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s in excitement or nervousness for what’s about to happen. “Jake!” You shout.

Jake perks up hearing your voice, and his lips break out into a massive grin. He abandons Sunoo’s side and rushes up to you, wrapping you in a warm hug. He sloppily kisses your cheek. “Y/N!” He was tipsy. “I missed you so much.” He holds you tighter and nuzzles his face in your neck.

This was going to be hard.

“Jake,” you say softly. “We need to talk.”

—-

You and Jake were sitting at a bus shelter near the frat house throwing the party. Your leg shakes as you work up the courage to end the fake relationship you have with Jake. You don’t know why you were hesitating all of a sudden. Why were you afraid of ending this relationship with Jake?

“Jake,” you start softly. “I think -- I think.” You inhale. You can do this. You can spit it out. “I think we should end the fake relationship.”

“Huh?” Jake tilts his head to the side. He really is a puppy.

“Jake. We need to break up. Or whatever.”

Jake’s eyes widen. “Break up? Why?”

This was the hard part. You’ve never dated someone so you’ve never experienced a break up before. How were you supposed to do this? How were you supposed to tell Jake to never contact you again because you don't fit in his world? You don’t fit beside him?

“I’m calling this whole agreement off,” you rephrase. You aren’t sure if this is an actual break up if you were never in a real relationship in the first place.

“Why?” Jake asks, and he looks sober. “We don’t have that much longer left.”

“I just feel like I did what you needed me to do. I stayed your girlfriend long enough to meet your parents. Now, it just feels pointless to keep this whole agreement going. I’ll transfer you back the money, and you can stop driving me around everywhere.”

“Y/N,” Jake says gently. He reaches for your hand and you retract it, dismissing the hurt on his face.

The thing about love; you don’t understand it. You’ve never understood love because you’ve never been in love. It’s confusing and tricky. Why does your heart beat a certain way around Jake, and not anybody else? You love your friends, sure, but it’s a different love to the one you feel with Jake. Love is weird, and confusing, and tricky, and unforgiving. You feel naive at the hands of love because it makes everything you thought you understood, more complex and hard to understand.

You used to know the difference between like and love and now you’re not so sure anymore.

You used to find love confusing, but now it’s complex with more instructions written in the fine print you never read in the first place. When your heart begins to beat a different tune, everything in you changes; how you behave, how you talk, how you dress, and how you look. Love changes you. For better or for worse.

“Jake, I don’t think we should stay friends after,” you admit, standing from the seat. The lamplight next to the bus shelter flickers slightly. A strong wind picks up and whips your hair into your face. Jake doesn’t move an inch, hurt and confusion plastered all over his face. “We’re two different people from two different families. We would’ve never worked out, no matter how badly I wanted this to be real.” The confession slips from your lips without a warning.

Jake looks anguished and he tries to reach for you again. You take a step back and the wind blows more harshly, rattling the bus shelter. “Jake. I don’t fit in with you. Or your family. I don’t fit in the world you’re living in.”

Jake tries to interrupt but you don’t let him. “It hurt me that night, when you offered no support, when you barraged me with your family dinner. I was underprepared, Jake, and I was left humiliated as your mother ripped my life apart in front of your relatives who I really wanted to impress no matter if they don’t hold value in your life.”

“Jake, I really, really like you.” You don’t understand the difference between like and love. Maybe you never will. Maybe you just really like Jake. “But we’d never work if this became real because right now, it’s fake, and I feel…” You shrug, unable to form a coherent sentence. “It’s just messing with me. And the dinner --”

“It was my mom, Y/N,” Jake interrupts, finally finding his voice. “You know how she is.”

“She’s manipulative and controlling. You told me yourself Jake,” you shoot back. “And I’m not looking for a fight Jake, I just think it’s time you actually put actions to your words. She shouldn’t still control your life. You’re twenty. Not sixteen.”

“Y/N --”

“Your mother humiliated me, Jake. She made me feel stupid for not knowing Korean.” Tears well in your eyes. “And you know what’s even stupider? She didn’t even believe for a second that you loved me. Your silence really spoke a thousand words, Jake. And not just for me.”

Jake sighs and glances away and towards the party that was happening behind him. “Is this because of the Instagram story Fran posted of us?”

You shake your head, bitterness spilling across your tongue. “No. I know you don’t like her like that, Jake. I mean, for a moment I was jealous but then I remembered she cheated on you and I know you’re better than that, Jake. And then I remembered, you didn’t tell me what ‘family dinner’ actually meant, and then you let your mother humiliate me in front of, pretty much, your entire family, and you’re still acting like you did nothing wrong when all I wanted was your support. Is that too much to ask for? I really tried to sell this relationship, Jake, but your mother saw right through us because of your silence.”

Jake drops his head, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You huff and the first tear drops. “Your family is really shitty, Jake.”

“I know.”

“And you can be better than them.”

“I know.”

“I really wished I didn’t feel so alone during that dinner.”

Jake raises his head. He looks pitiful. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t contact me, Jake, we’re done.”

Jake physically recoils at your words. “Y/N --”

“I hope I’m able to get over you, Jake. I really hope I am.” You step away from Jake, and above you, lightning crackles through the sky. “I had a nice time with you, Jake.”

Jake lets you go as thunder booms overhead.

—-

“Do you think I was overreacting?” You ask Wonyoung as you lie on your bed. It’s been a week since you last saw or heard from Jake and as much as you wish you didn’t, all you could think about was Jake. How stupid, immature, and hypocritical of you. “Maybe I was. Maybe it wasn’t that deep.”

Wonyoung hums. “No. I think you did good. You know what you want in a relationship, Y/N. You want someone who can stand up for you against his parents. Your reaction was valid.”

You roll over in your bed and face Wonyoung who was probably texting Sunghoon as she lay on her own bed across from you. “I miss him,” you admit softly and then promptly shove your face in your pillow to scream. “But I hate him for what he did -- but I really really miss him.”

“You liked him a lot, Y/N,” Wonyoung says gently. “Of course you’ll miss him.”

You roll onto your back again and stare at the ceiling. “He was nice to me. And kind. And thoughtful, and he was funny and charming and so polite and he made me feel warm and safe and comfortable and --” You look at Wonyoung who was smiling at you, her phone discarded. “I think I almost fell in love with him.”

“I think he almost fell in love with you too,” Wonyoung says.

You shake your head. “I don’t know about that.”

Wonyoung checks the time on her phone and gasps, leaping off her bed. “Fuck. It’s so late. I need to get going for my lecture. Do you want me to buy anything when I’m walking back?”

“Chocolate milk?” You ask Wonyoung. “I think I need chocolate milk.”

Wonyoung smiles and pats your shoulder. “Of course.”

You lie in bed for the rest of the day, thinking over your relationship with Jake. You hate to admit it, but to you, for the most part, the relationship felt real -- especially when Jake joined your family during Christmas. Nothing felt more real than you curled up on Jake’s lap, sharing laughter and trading jokes.

“Hey Wonyoung,” you ask a few hours later, after she’s returned with your chocolate milk. (The bottle is now empty as it lies at the foot of your bed.) “Do you think I was a bit too naive in the relationship? Sure, we’re only two years apart, but our maturity is probably ten years apart. Was I asking for too much?”

Wonyoung shakes her head. “You weren’t asking for too much. Jake was just giving too little. He wasn’t providing you with the emotional support a relationship needs.”

“But when we were alone,” you say quietly, “he did. He comforted me. He told me reassuring words and made me feel wanted. I don’t know why he did what he did at dinner. Clearly that’s a can I’ll never have the privilege of popping open or asking about.” Sighing, you squeeze your stuffed toy dog closer to your chest. “But I do think I was naive. I fell too fast for Jake. I am only eighteen, after all.”

“You fell first but he fell harder,” Wonyoung says.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

You shut your eyes and sigh again. “When I think of Jake, I think of him spending Christmas with me and my family. He’s just…so happy. So fucking happy. And it makes me feel happy. See? I fell too fast, and too deep, and now I don’t know if I’ll ever get over him.”

Wonyoung laughs softly. “And why do you think he felt happy, Y/N?”

A light blush tints your cheeks. “I like to imagine he felt happy because he was with me.”

—-

Exam season creeps up on you fast, and to deal with your stress you start going out on runs -- like right now. With loud Olivia Rodrigo blasting through your airpods, you jog down the sidewalk of a quiet suburban street. Since summer is near, the sun burns brighter and sweat easily soaks you.

On this run, you bump into Riki.

“Riki!” You exclaim in surprise when you spot the familiar boy walking towards the nearby park that houses a baseball diamond. He’s carrying his overstuffed baseball bag and has headphones on, but at the sound of your voice, he whirls around and tugs them off.

“Y/N,” he responds, his voice smooth and neutral. “Wanna play baseball?”

So, you find yourself pitching to Riki and retrieving the balls he hits out into the field, deja vu washing over you. He doesn’t speak to you until the end. Concern that you’ve angered him washes over you as you watch him take a long sip of water from his water bottle.

“I’m not mad at you,” Riki says, wiping his forehead with a towel. “So can you stop looking at me like that?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, blushing.

“If anything, I’m glad you broke up with Jake.”

You gape at the younger boy and watch him back up his stuff. “What?”

“He needed this wake up call. He has so much personal shit going on in his life that he never had the balls to face, and I guess whatever you said to him when you broke up with him really slapped him awake. I’ve never seen Jake this happy, or appear this light, y’know? Like before, it felt like he was dragging this dead weight around with him but ever since he cut off his family and dealt with personal issues, it’s like that dead weight is gone.” Riki harshly shoves his baseball glove into his overflowing bag.

“I mean, you know Jake is emotionally constipated in a way.”

You snort. “Ain’t that the truth. We would only brush the surface level of his…childhood trauma. He would tell me measly things -- like how his parents never had time for him, and how his mother was extremely controlling and his father was demanding, but that’s all. We never, like, actually talked about his feelings.”

Riki nods his head, picking up his bat and swinging it through the air. “Jake’s actually talking about his feelings now, by the way. He’s been talking to his brother more recently and finally caved into Jay’s nagging and booked a therapy appointment.”

“Oh wow,” your eyes widened. “Therapy?”

Riki nods his head. “He wants to get better.” The look Riki gives you says everything.

Running back home, your steps feel lighter. You’re able to study with a clear mind and when you exit the exam halls you feel as if you just aced all those tests. You don’t know why, but knowing that Jake is working towards a better self, makes you feel happy. You’re glad Jake is working on himself, and has support all around him. You feel the urge to reach out to him, but you fight it away by keeping yourself occupied by hanging out with Wonyoung and your friends.

You occasionally run into Riki and Heeseung while out on your runs. They keep you updated on Jake, letting you know how he’s doing and what he’s doing. It’s nice to still be in touch with Jake’s friends, it’s nice to see that they don’t resent you for breaking up with Jake. Jay reaches out to you once, inviting you to his birthday party. You turn down the invitation and Jay says he understands. Then, he thanks you for taking care of Jake.

Your pride holds you back from unblocking Jake on Instagram so you create a burner account solely to keep yourself updated on Jake’s whereabouts during summer break. He takes Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki back to Milan, Italy where they shop at Prada, eat tons of pasta and pizza, and get drunk on Italian wine. Based on the stories they post, the Milan trip was quite eventful.

The start of your second year approaches quickly and you still haven’t reached out to Jake yet. You’ve unblocked his number and drafted up a few text messages asking Jake if he wants to talk, or meet up, but you’ve never had the guts to send them. You’re afraid of the outcome, you’re afraid of finding out that Jake never wants to see you again, but you’d understand if Jake requests that.

It’s the last day before you move back into the dormitory. You’re lounging on the couch with Myeong who is watching Crazy Rich Asians while she paints her toes. You’re laser focused on your phone, struggling to come up with a text to send to Jake. You really want to see him again.

Someone knocks on your door.

“I’ll get it,” you tell Myeong, gladly distracting yourself from the daunting task you assigned yourself. Dressed in old, short, denim shorts, and a ratty old t-shirt that boasts Disneyland’s 50th Anniversary, you open the door. “Hi--”

Jake stands on your doorstep, holding a bouquet of red roses. His hair is slicked back. He’s wearing a white blouse that’s been paired with black slacks. He looks breathtaking. Literally. You can’t breathe.

“Y/N,” Jake smiles gently, and holds out the bouquet for you to take. “You look beautiful.”

You snort, still unable to move.

“Don't leave me hanging, Y/N,” Jake says.

“What are you doing here, Jake?” You finally find your voice, and your arm reaches out to take hold of the rose bouquet.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking,” Jake admits. “And a lot of that thinking has been about you.”

You stare at Jake, wide-eyed, and if you were able to see yourself, there’s probably stars in your eyes. You grip the rose bouquet tighter. “You’ve been thinking? About me?”

Jake nods his head. “About you. And our time together. And I realized that if we had spent more time together, I would have fallen in love with you.”

You feel faint. “Oh, wow.” Your mouth feels dry, and it’s hard to breathe.

“You’re very lovable, Y/N,” Jake’s smile is just as bright as the sun, and his eyes hold galaxies that are far prettier than the one you’re existing in. “And I’m sorry for making you feel alone. Friends or dating, I should never let someone feel like that. I’m sorry for not standing up for you.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” you laugh off the insanity you’re feeling. “I’m over it. Really.”

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Y/N.”

You smile softly, raising the roses to your nose. “It’s okay, Jake.”

Jake nods his head. “Alright. Cool. I’m -- I’m glad.” He looks up at the sky, with tense shoulders, and closes his eyes. He looks unsure of himself and you let out a small, amused giggle. Jake glances back at you, and everything in him relaxes. He inhales deeply. “So, I was wondering, Y/N, if you’d like to go out with me. Tonight. On a real date.”

It’s silent for a long time.

“You can say no --”

“You’re a very hard person to get over, Jake,” you admit.

“I am?”

You nod your head. “I think it’s stupid how you still occupy my heart.”

“It’s stupid?”

You smile. “Very stupid. But that’s okay, because it makes me stupidly in love with you.”

“Oh.”

“Give me fifteen minutes. Myeong’s watching Crazy Rich Asians, so you can keep her company while I get changed and --”

Jake cuts you off with a kiss. His lips are warm against yours. When he draws away, his eyes are like molten honey. It’s like he’s melting right in front of you, love oozing from every inch of skin that you can see. “Sorry,” Jake flushes. “I couldn’t help myself. You look really cute, Y/N.”

You draw Jake back in for another kiss.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen jake #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen imagine #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #sim jaeyun #sim jake #love me like you #jake sim #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n

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allwaswell16 · 1 month

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A fic rec of my favorite One Direction alpha Louis omegaverse fics as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, let the writer know by leaving kudos and comments! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis/Harry -

🌰 Light, Spark and Fire (series) by green_feelings / @greenfeelings

(E, 239k, CEO Louis) Life’s pretty ordinary for Harry. He lives with his best friend, got into university just like he’s planned, and manages to support himself just fine for an unbonded omega. If he sustains that lifestyle by getting paid to help alphas through their rut every now and then, that’s nothing to be hung up on. Until he’s hired by an alpha that turns everything upside down.

🌰 Say Something by @kingsofeverything

(E, 105k, age difference) At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life. Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

🌰 Ace of Spades by @allwaswell16

(E, 78k, pirate au) Louis is a pirate, Harry is his captive, and no one is who they say they are.

🌰 These High Walls by LarryAlways28

(E, 68k, CEO Harry) when the older, and wildly attractive Harry Styles offers him a deal in exchange for saving his family's legacy- how could Louis ever refuse that?

🌰 Unveiled by @phdmama

(M, 65k, royal au) There are no robes. And not a single one of them is veiled.

🌰 and i would search the night sky to find you by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 56k, boarding school) Harry Styles is a high class, well-bred Omega attending Bosworth Academy - a prestigious boarding school looking over the small town on Kinsey. He has his whole life already planned for him, learning his place as the potential mate for an important Alpha, practicing his home making skills, and be obedient above all else.

🌰 Just for Tonight (I can be yours) by @sadaveniren

(E, 42k, royal) Harry, prince of Cestrescir, has been betrothed to Ludvic, prince of Yorvik, since birth. He'd accepted a loveless marriage as his duty to his country, until an accident threw him in the path of a gentle alpha

🌰 You're Not My Type (still I fall) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

(M, 38k, farm) He's been in stickier spots; he reminds himself. Way stickier. This is just a bit of rain; it'll blow over. Then Harry will just... well, alright, he isn't entirely sure what to do when the rain stops because he'll still be stuck and lost.

🌰 Endgame by @brightgolden

(E, 38k, royal) Where omega Crown Prince Harry Styles is trying and failing to get pregnant for four years, but all that is about to change when courtesan alpha Louis Tomlinson comes into the equation.

🌰 The Risen (series) by @creamcoffeelou

(E, 28k, cult au) In search of the next breaking story, Harry goes off to do something no one else has been able to do: get the scoop on Louis Tomlinson and his devoted group of followers.

🌰 Keep Me Closer by zanni_scaramouche / @zanniscaramouche

(T, 18k, uni au) Louis expects Harry to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck ass but Louis won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Harry’s even turned around.

🌰 Single Bells Ring by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(M, 16k, alpha/alpha) A holiday singles event is not where Louis wants to be tonight, but there he is, helping his best friend find love.

🌰 Prince Harry and the Expert in Motorcycle Maintenance by @juliusschmidt

(E, 15k, fairy tale) a cinderella au in which prince harry rides a motorcycle and louis, a simple mechanic, fixes it.

🌰 Bentley Station, Now Arriving by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 13k, space) There's a ball coming up, and Harry is going to attend. Niall will make certain of that.

🌰 It's Been Ages by @2tiedships2

(NR, 13k, friends to lovers) Louis shook his head in exasperation. “If you’ve been watching, you would see that Harry is interested in, like, alpha alphas. Not me.”

🌰 I’ve Always Liked the Fireworks by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 12k, football) When alphas and omegas reach the age of twenty-one they are required to attend a Proving Day ceremony. Omegas watch as alphas do their best to compete in events, show off their skills, and prove how good a mate they can really be.

🌰 Come In and Change My Life by lightswoodmagic / @lightwoodsmagic

(E, 12k, neighbors) Harry and Louis become friends when Harry looks after Louis' cat during away games, until one night at a party changes everything between them. It's just a shame Louis' going to be away for the FIFA World Cup for three months.

🌰 Just Jump by @jaerie

(E, 9k, heat) “Hi!” The alpha said again and Harry took the hand he offered and shook it firmly. “I’m Louis from Omega Services. It’s nice to meet you.”

🌰 a body wishes to be held & held by @turnyourankle

(E, 9k, heat/rut) Harry wants to return the favour after Louis helps him out with his heat.

🌰 A Silver Lining In A Storm (You Were Lightning, I Was Born) by @fallinglikethis

(E, 6k, arranged marriage) after the death of his first fiancé, a man who turned out far worse than Harry thought possible, his subsequent marriage to the man's brother leaves Harry finding it difficult to trust that everything will work out

🌰 a rose by any other name by delsicle / @eeveedel

(G, 3k, Victorian) Harry is a sheltered omega who is the pinnacle of good breeding, but the flowers in his family’s garden – and the alpha gardener who keeps them – prove to be his greatest weakness.

- Rare Pairs -

🌰 That Don’t Define Who You Are by @lululawrence

(NR, 7k, Louis/Harry/Nick Grimshaw) the one where Harry is a licking omega with a broken bond who helps heal a fairly hapless beta with a folding bicycle. When Harry also meets the beta's alpha, things start to get... interesting.

#ficrec #alphalouis #1dficvillage #trackinghome #trackinghappily #hljournal #hlcreators #hltracks #1dsource #ficsfor4am

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nyanggk · 2 years

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PICTURE PERFECT: PARK JAYS F*CK LIST — p. js

SYNOPSIS park jay is known around your campus as a resident fuck boy. him and his friends compete in a game wherein by the end of the year, they have to complete their fuck list in order to win, but what happens when jay meets a girl who can resist his charms?

PAIRING rugby player jay × art club member reader

GENRE smut with plot, highschool au, romance , enemies to lovers, romance comedy kinda

WARNING(S) profanity, dark humour, discrimination, dubcon, alcohol consumption, bullying, smut, dom/sub dynamics (sub!jay, dom!reader), making out, corruption, degradation, male masturbarion, oral, nude painting, bulge kink, marking

WC. 28k+

— this is suppsoed to be stereotypical, yes ㅠㅠ it isn't meant to be misogynistic. it's just the world I built them in. yn/I literally stated that this is her highschool and this is what she noticed. don't send asks if you're gonna go through with it with anonymous.

In all the years you spent dwelling inside the same old boring highschool, you've come to the conclusion that in every campus, there's always three breeds of people paying amongst you that seem to avoid the brink of extinction; the slutty cheerleaders, the attention seeking fangirls, the ones that annoy you, the varsity jocks.

These varsity players are your typical ball heads who have their minds wrapped around the game and only the game. They're one way ticket to college is their varsity scholarship and inevitably making the dull-witted excuse to throw away everything related to academics and instead, centering their focus on their balls. It's stereotypical for you to say that, you acknowledge that for sure, but you can't help but speak the truth as most, if not, all of them are the same.

Albeit, yes, these are the usual qualities found in these ball fondlers, but there's a different kind laying amongst these godforesaken creatures that's even more toxic, more abominable, and those are the varsity fuckboys.

These varsity fuckboys are always entitled, period. There's never a day in their lives where they don't stop talking about their latest slutty agendas or how awestrickingly good they are at playing the game. It also doesn't really help how their fan base— which consists of ignorant, ovulating, and in heat females, not only throw compliments their way, but also themselves at every passing moment towards these good for nothing jocks. It's as if these people have lost all sense of their humanity and became objects that do nothing but lurk around the school grounds, waiting to be inserted with a schlong and become teenage mothers.

Do they even have a sense of self respect anymore?

Going back on track, it's a great dismay that all these complimenting words go straight to their head, making it even bigger.

Shame that not one ounce of it went to their dicks.

In accordance to that, yearly, these pubescent rats participate in an event called "Picture Perfect" wherein they hand pick at least more than ten different names of those who study in their school who, by the end of the year, they have to "connect" with. They mix them inside a bowl and let each one of them draw one by one. Once that person has their own paper, they have a set of rules they have to follow;

disclaimer, as per everyone's agreement and preference, only girls will be put on the list.

1. For proof, take a picture of the girl in bed or wherever while the two of you are fucking.

2. Threesomes are allowed if both players have the same person on their list.

3. Varsity players with girlfriends can't participate— unless you're Jake. We don't want to be caught in your drama.

4. First one to complete their list is the winner.

5. Failure to comply with these rules will get you disqualified from the competition indefinitely.

With that said, they have the whole school year to finish this list. Now, a year may seem too long for some, however, with the mix of competitions and practices, there's only a handful of times in a week that these boys can have a day off and hunt for their prey.

No one remembers when this whole shenanigans started nor do they remember who started it, the only thing that matters is the game and who comes out on top. They take this seriously— too seriously, you think.

For the record, they say that this game is only for fun and that no one should take it all too seriously when they lose. The prize is an ego boost for christ sake so which logical person would try so hard in such an idiotic game? If that's what you thought then you're clearly a normal person with a normal thought process along with a naturally working brain. However, it's safe to say that if you think these boys we're even one bit of the word "normal," then you're completely wrong because these ball players have rugby balls for brain cells and will do everything they can to win; showing off is a big enough prize for them to try their hardest.

A rugby team is normally composed of fifteen players. However, for this year, there will only be a total of 9 participants as the other six already either have girlfriends that they were strongly committed to— unlike Sim Jake who changed girlfriends more often than he showered, or like Riki and Jungwon who were still too young to be doing any funny business, and like Sunoo who didn't want to participate in some pathetic child's play.

Moving on, one of the many other foolish participants in this wretched dog show is Park Jongseong, otherwise known as Jay amongst his peers and the students of Decelis High. It's his second year as an athlete playing rugby, meaning this year, it'll be his second time competing. As you can tell, he wasn't so lucky on his first try, barely getting pass three when he had ten on his check list, but this year, he's determined to do whatever it legally takes to come out on top.

"Alright, dickheads!" Their captain, Lee Heeseung, calls out.

Currently, all the willing participants are sitting around a mess of multiple chairs and tables merged together as they busy themselves with writing the names for the person who'll draw their paper.

"Times up. Pass your papers." Heeseung commands with folded arms, impersonating a teacher who's instructing their students. He fetches a clear bowl and gestures for all nine members to put their papers in. Shaking the bowl, he continues on saying, "Now, as last year's winner, I strongly advise all of you to have fun and not take things overboard."

"Aw c'mon, Cap," Jay mocks in a whine. "You know everyone takes this game seriously, don't you?"

Heeseung rolls his eyes, shaking the bowl in circles. "I know but I'm still obligated to say that so I won't be involved in the fallout when one of you idiots decide to do something stupid, again." He says, eyeing Choi Beomgyu from across the table. All the puppy-faced boy does is smile at his coach sheepishly, earning snickers and nudges from the people around him as he scratches the back of his head guiltily.

Last year, Beomgyu took the game a little too seriously. It was already his third year in the rugby team and he still hasn't won. He felt antsy, wanting to experience the glory of winning, and so, knowing that Heeseung was in the lead, he did whatever he could to stop him from finishing his list. He hid the girls from the other, he told them he had aids, that he cums too fast, that he likes being treated like a dog in bed, and a whole lot more dumb shit just to keep Heeseung from winning. But all his efforts were inevitably for nothing as by the time winter break was over, Heeseung had won, laying out all the pictures he took of his one night stands out on the table at lunchtime with a cocky smirk plastered across his perfect face.

One by one, the boy's take their turns fishing for a piece of paper inside the bowl. As Jay grasps his own in the palm of his hands, he takes a look at the others' expressions when they open their own checklist.

Some cheered and some winced. Seeing the latter made Jay's confidence run through the roof, thinking that he was so lucky that he already had the upper hand on the others without having to even take a look at his own paper.

"Mark Lee?!" Choi Yeonjun screams in outrage. "Bitch! Is this even allowed?!" He genuinely asks in an outraged tone, however, the others just simply burst out laughing at his predicament, not providing him with a coherent answer.

"Cap?" He calls out to the younger, voice pleading.

Heeseung sighs out seemingly tired of the whole ordeal as he pinches the bridge of his sharp nose, scrunching his eyebrows together. "I'll change it on my own, hyung." He assures the older in a low tone, making it so that Yeonjun was the only person who got to hear what he said.

"I thought we agreed on keeping it strictly to girls?" He said, crossing his arms once again and repeatedly tapping his feet on the ground to show his annoyance. "So, which idiot was it?"

At that question, continuous screams of denial and bursts of cackling laughter erupt, occupying the small room, but Jay tunes them all out as his eyes zero onto the lack of names written on his checklist. His eyebrows knit together in confusion as usually there were at least ten different names listed on every checklist because everyone wanted to make it harder for the person who drew it. However, his list only had one.

Although writing less than ten names isn't against the rules, it's certainly out of the ordinary as he doubts anyone on his team had a heart made of gold and be that merciful.

Before he could tear his eyes away from the paper though, he caught sight of a note written beside it.

1. YN — goodluck on this one bro ;) tell me how getting pegged feels like, I kinda wanna try it soon.

Looking at the note with a mix of confusion and disgust, Jay wonders why this girl seemed so unfamiliar.

In all his years spent in the same school, he's never heard of anyone with that name before. Granted, he doesn't usually pay attention to anyone other than the boys, much less try to remember the names of the girls he fucks around with in school. He thinks they're all irrelevant and are just getting close to them because they want the attention and fame being the girlfriend— or even an acquaintance, of a varsity player gives them. But the thing is, for the sake of the competition, he has to know who you are, however, no matter how far back in his memories he searches, he still can't seem to remember who that girl is.

Eventually his curiosity takes over and asks "Who's YN?" while showing them his list and gesturing towards the only name written on it.

Hearing his question, the chattering stops and their gazes focus on the tip of Jay's finger. Jake is the one that answers his question, the rest of them stare with their mouths slightly agape. "You don't know YN? From the art club?"

When all Jay does is shake his head, the boys stare at him in a mix of wonder and shock, baffled by how oblivious the boy is when it comes to you.

"Dude, how do you not know YN?" Park Sunghoon asks in disbelief. Jay only shrugs at him in reply, wondering what the big deal about this girl was.

"Bro, Jay, whoever wrote YN down is absolutely bad-shit crazy. I got her on my list last year and she was the fucking reason I lost." Choi Soobin says, groaning. "I was so close to winning as well!" He bursts out, slumping on the back of his chair as he pouts.

Everyone knows about the rugby team's yearly antics and you're ashamed to say that nearly everyone is ecstatic whenever that time of the year comes— especially the whores. It gives them the not so once in a lifetime chance to sleep with the hottest varsity player on campus.

However, as the loner with one singular friend that you are, you'd like to say that you're different from everyone else— and you are not saying that so you could be the IRL version of YN from a Wattpad book made in 2013. You don't feel excitement coursing through your veins when the year starts. Your panties don't drop at the sight of them all sweaty and dirty while practicing. You don't try to manifest your name to be on the list so they could flirt with you, get in your pants, and then leave you cold and naked when they get what they want. They're just boys who can play one filthy sport, what's so mind blowing about that?

You hate rugby. It's not just some petty thing, you despise it with your whole mind, body, and soul. You can't ever stand that sport and you hate the fact that all school funds go to that dumb piece of shit and not your precious art club. If only your school treated the art club the same way they sucked that god forsaken sports dick off then maybe— no, not maybe, then for sure, your school would have much more elegance.

God! Just saying the word "rugby" makes your tongue bitter. Not to mention, the players! They're just horrendous; full of pride, ego, and everything bad. You just can't stand breathing in the same air.

So last year, when misfortune dawned upon you and they had the audacity to involve you in their wretched game, you blew up; like a volcano waiting to burst and set fire to the whole nation.

That year, Kang Taehyun, a rugby jock, approached you and started shamelessly flirting with you while you were having a peaceful time replicating the Mona Lisa. You erupted into a fit of anger and threw your palette covered with fresh paint onto his white varsity jacket.

Every single member of the rugby team wore that shit everywhere they possibly could. It's as if to show his underlings that he is superior. You knew it was for their weird Picture Perfect event, that's why you acted in such a barbaric way. And for the record, you regret none of it— not even when you got sent to the principal for a 3 hour scolding session.

You know who that boy is. His name is Park Jongseong and he's in the same year as you, meaning that you get to see him too many times a week for your liking. Why such a strong distaste for the boy you ask? Oh, that's because you already know what breed the scoundrel is. If that jersey wrapped around his lean body doesn't scream jock to you then you don't know what else.

Word around campus spreads fast so even though you detested hearing useless gossip, you're somewhat thankful that Liz is such a chatterbox because through her, you're able to know who everyone is in the first few months of school. Truthfully, you have yet to decide whether this trait of hers should be considered as a con or not. For example, last year, she had the bright idea of telling you that Park Sunghoon slept with a 40 year old milf, offering to spill you the rest of the details— not like she knew what the word 'milf' meant. She just tells you whatever new story she hears. Needless to say, you didn't want to hear any other features of that story. So, you weren't surprised when you caught sight of one of them throwing curious glances your way on one Monday morning whilst you were talking to your best friend, Liz, in front of your locker.

It annoyed you how he was looking at you and it made your skin crawl. Already, you could feel waves of nauseous chills skimming down your spine, making you shudder as no doubt that if he continues, your breakfast is going to spill to the floor. You could only guess that he's interested in you because you're on his list and that he's trying to make a move on you.

Before, you were used to them glancing at you out of curiosity. It's a normal thing to do when you see someone pretty on campus, but no one ever made a move to introduce themselves. Truth be told, these guys never messed with you until last year, when they found you're a hard girl to get with.

If your hunch is correct and you're in fact on the list once again then you could only wish him good luck because you aren't interested.

To you, the boy throws what looks to be a constipated looking smile your way and your lips tug further down in a frown, suddenly feeling your stomach get upset.

Although taken aback by your expression, Jay ignores it and persists to throw a charming smile your way, this time adding a small wave— both of which you turn down, only replying with the same frown on your face as you bore holes on his face with your so-called "resting bitch face." His face falters when he realises that you've indirectly turned down his gesture, scratching the back of his head in concealed embarrassment as he turns back to his group of friends as if nothing happened.

"Why's that psycho looking at me?" You ask, cutting Liz off on her rant and nudging your head towards where the guy stood.

Liz follows your stare and without warning, she squeals, jumping in place with excitement when he catches sight of the boy. "Oh my gosh, YN! Jay was looking at you?!"

With your face scrunched up in disgust, you look at your lifeline and wonder if it's too late to change friends because if it isn't, you'd pick that snot covered geek with braces back in 3rd grade any day.

"Oh don't look at me like that." She says, slapping your arm. "He is totally your type!"

Gagging, your gastric reflexes are about to show you just how displeased your whole body is with that sentence. "My type?! What do you mean by 'my type'?! Whatever my type is, it is certainly not that!" You say, repeatedly making frustrated air quotes whenever you say the word 'my type.'

"He is! Look," She persists, tangling her arms with yours and pulling you to gaze at where Jay stood. "Nice jawline, feminine and cat-like eyes, pretty lips, prominent nose, and last but certainly not the least, look at that stunning birthmark on his neck! Don't tell me you don't want to lick that." She dares on.

Now, you're ashamed. Where have you gone wrong in raising your best friend and how did she become such a disgusting simp?!

To some extent, you suppose she is quite right. Usually, guys like him would be your type. If only that varsity jacket wasn't wrapped around his body then maybe, just maybe, you would've shot your shot by now. To them, that jacket signifies authority, fame, and an excessive amount of self importance. One glance at these arrogant motherfuckers and you already know they're narcissistic and my God, you hate it.

The first ring of the school bell finally pulls you out of your murderous glare, eyes diverting from the annoying jock and moving towards your schedule instead. You sigh gratefully once you see that your first class is literature. Not only is literature class the only subject you enjoy, you also like to think that teaching students the power of words and poetry brings back some of your schools integrity.

With Liz, you travel towards the classroom with your hand possessively trapped in hers. Liz likes physical touch and even though you aren't the kind to be touchy with anyone, you'll let a few of your principles be set aside for your dearest best friend.

Your face stays neutral and observing while the boy, supposedly named as Jay, takes the seat beside yours. He ignores the complaints of your blonde headed friend as if she wasn't even there. He continues to pay no heed to Liz and when she realises he won't be moving any time soon, your friend leaves with a hmph and stomps towards the seat right behind yours.

As you enter the room, you tell Liz to pick a seat somewhere near the front and beside the windows. She nods, understanding your love for the subject and setting aside her dislike so you could have fun.

You sigh comfortably in satisfaction as you skim your hands on the newly polished face of your desk, only to be disrupted later on when you hear your friend shouting in a pouty way.

Sulking, Liz taps at your back, hoping to get some of your attention and to her delight, you turn your head towards her while your front is in Jays view. Ignoring the feeling of his eyes blatant stare at your neck, you focus on whatever gossip Liz tells you, humming and nodding every now and then to show her that you were listening.

No matter how long you and Liz have been talking, Jays fixation on you doesn't waver, only intensifying within the passing moments. Jay stares at every crevice of your body that's shown. Your neck and the exposed skin of your collarbone is what draws Jay in; pretty and plush, making it so nice to look at. Each muscle clenches as you continue to crane your neck towards your friend and it only takes his mind into a deeper frenzy, thoughts occupied with your skin and the desire to touch it. The boys mouth somewhat begins to salvate, making him take a loud gulp as he feels himself grow hotter and flustered.

Knowing how much he's been ogling at you while you're just there striking simple pose, he finds himself kind of embarrassing in this situation as he's never been one to be so easily riled up. But what can he do? it's something his body can't help but feel and the worse thing is, you weren't even doing any of it on purpose. It's all in his mind and Jay can only blame his teenage hormones for the fantasies it's creating.

Eventually, the boys strong fixation on you gets disrupted by your movements, pulling him out of his trance as now, instead of craning your neck and semi twisting your body to talk to your friend, he's met with your judging and questioning gaze. You continue to stare at Jay, cocking your eyebrows up as if to question whether he had anything to say. Still awestruck, the boy fails to form anything coherent and as a result of being caught, his cheeks start to flare up a sweet pinkish colour, one that you would've cooed at if he wasn't who he is.

Now, you're annoyed as while Liz is playing on her phone, there's an annoying jock sitting beside you. You huff feeling the symptoms of boredom spread through you. Picking up your pencil, you opt to scribble on your sketchpad, the small flower that laid idly on your table becoming your muse.

You were too busy sketching when out of the blue, you hear a deep voice speak up from beside you, ruining the serenity you've made for yourself.

"Life is the flower for which love is the honey, don't you think?" The man beside you cites, trying to mimic a poet citing his own poem. He picks up the small flower that strayed on top of your desk with his nimble fingers and gives it to you with the same smile he showed you prior to this moment. "It's a quote from Shakespeare. Have you heard of it?"

'This is it.' He thought in his head, thinking that since you were into art and literature, you were probably screaming on the inside right now because of Jays romantic gesture. He watched you as you eye the flower in his hands, his ego swelling with pride thinking that he's won you over. You repeatedly look back between his face and the flower before heaving out a small sigh. He watches your face morph into the most charming smile Jay had ever seen and at that moment, the boy felt something tugging on his heart strings.

In awe of your beaming beauty, he sat frozen on his seat as you leaned closer to Jay, taking the small flower in your hands. His breath couldn't help but hitch at the slightest contact of your fingers brushing against his as he continued to stare at you in wonder as you inspected the flower, twirling it between your long fingers.

"That's sweet, Jay." You compliment, looking at the said boy. He struggles to maintain eye contact with you, once again feeling overwhelmingly hot under your gaze— not to mention the way his name rolled out so smoothly out of your mouth. "But…" Dragging out the word, you leave Jay in suspense.

He's at the edge of his seat as waits for you to continue, cheeks flaring up as you smile at him with such a sickening amount of sweetness. Jay thinks you're going to finally flirt back at him. That all his friends' words were untrue and in reality, you're actually just a shy tsundere.

But Jay was proven wrong when you pressed the flower between your fingers, crushing it with little to no thought. "...That's from Hugo, not Shakespeare. I suggest you get your facts straight before you try to get inside my pants." You finish.

The sweet moment between the two of you ended the moment those words left your mouth and pierced its way through Jay's confidence. With your eyes, you dared for him to retaliate, but just like how you expected, Jay was too embarrassed that his brain couldn't even process what was happening. Gone was the pretty smile that Jay's so head over heels for as now, an annoyed expression falls upon your features— a complete one-eighty in just a span of five seconds.

"Also, do me a favor and leave me out of your dumb fucking game."

After that, Jay was too ashamed to stay in your presence. So, wanting to keep the rest of his dignity, he left with his head bowed down. The action prohibited you from seeing his reddened face which he was thankful for. Instead, he made his way towards the back of the class and picked a seat a few chairs behind you, making it so that he could still watch you freely from afar without your knowledge.

For the sake of his pride, he tried to think that he only left because class was starting and because he didn't want to be stuck in the same seat when he's done doing his business with you. However, he knows those words were all lies— a way for him to deny his blossoming feelings.

Jay can't seem to understand how you made his heart pound so hard, ear deafening from the relentless beats that was orchestrated by your mere presence. He's not one to blush like an idiot in front of someone and he's certainly not one to feel like his heart had been thrown until beaten and battered by one negative gesture. You make him feel something foreign, something he's never felt before in his life. It scares him in a way; not being able to put into words how he's feeling. There's something about the way you feel so strongly disgusted by him that makes him want to provoke you even more, wanting to see more ways you'll respond. He sees the fire crackling behind your eyes whenever he looks at you so why is it that even though he knows he'll get burnt, he's still dying to touch you?

There's clearly something wrong with him.

He knows it's unhealthy; wanting to get closer to you when you clearly don't like him, but he can't help it. He's drawn to you in some mind consuming type of way and he's willing to do anything just to get an ounce of your attention.

His feelings are still confusing to him because just hours ago, his mind was so enveloped in winning, willing to do whatever it takes just to have you in bed and get the glory he so despretely wants. But now that he's gotten a glimpse of what it's like to be occupied by you, the objective has changed. It's not about the game anymore because fuck the game. Right now, he couldn't give a shit about winning— okay, maybe a just little bit.

Of course, he still has the game to thank for introducing you to him and he still wants to rub his victory onto his teammates' face like Heeseung did when he won. But right now, all he wants is to have you.

It's your second month back in school and Jay hasn't let a single moment in literature class pass by without him trying to get on your nerves. It seems as if God has put your morals to the test because each time he opens his mouth, your hand seemed to itch for some impact, preferably on someones face.

His routine would always be to sit beside you when class hasn't started yet, try and build up a conversation with you in which you'd reply with something dry, he'd ignore it and continue to talk about his day whether it would be about practice, rugby, or just how his day went in general, and then go back to his permanent seat when the bell rings.

If you're being honest, in the past you would've been so dejected, disgusted, and nauseated by the fact that you're even within five metres in range of one of them.

When have you gone wrong in raising yourself and where have your principals gone?

Granted, if the opportunity to get rid of him ever came, would you still take it?

They're still insufferable, you know that for sure. But after finding out that no matter how hard you try and kick Paek Jay out of your life, there's no reason to keep trying anymore and that you've completely given up. You've tried everything you could imagine just to steer away from him. There was no way in hell that you'd ever change classes so instead, you opted to convince the boy to work his magic and change classes and go somewhere, preferably, far far far away from you. But of course, as you can tell, that didn't work. There was also a time where you tried to ignore him in hopes of him finally giving up, however, to no avail, he was persistent and didn't relent. You've also begged Liz to not let Jay switch seats with her before class, but to your luck, your best friend seems to have her mind wrapped in the fantasy that you and Jay are just perfect for eachother.

She kept on giving you the reason that God would bring her back as cockroach if she got in the way of your blossoming love. So believe me when I say, you've tried it all.

"Hey, YN." He greets cooly, casually sliding in Liz's seat. Already used to it, your friend just shrugs, momentarily switching seats with the boy as she knows that he'll eventually switch back.

Without turning your head to face him, you only reply with a hum, respectfully acknowledging him despite your dislike.

Jay ignores your clear lack of interest before he heaves out a deep loud sigh. He throws his head back, adam's apple protruding at the middle of his throat as you peek at him brushing his hair back.

It's hot. He's hot. But you bury that feeling deep down, shaking the thought away. You return your focus towards where your phone lay in the middle of your desk. The screen opens, a quiet beep catching your attention. You were about to ignore it, suddenly feeling too tired to socialise, but to your dismay, it doesn't only catch your attention but also of the man sitting beside you.

"Mrs. Hwang sent you a message, YN." He informs you, head now resting comfortably on your desk. "Should I open it?"

He leans over towards your side, an arm sliding on top of your desk, resting in front of you while the other rests behind you, on top of your seat like a boyfriend trying to gatekeep his girlfriend. You would've tried shaking him off if you weren't aware of the fact that he would put it back either way. His head is right next to yours as he eyes the message on your phone and you can't help but catch a whiff of the delightful scent of his shampoo. Trying to stay composed, you sit idly in your seat as you watch Jay scan through the notification on your lock screen as if it was his own.

You scoff in disbelief, rolling your eyes to feign annoyance. "No, gimme that." You say, snatching the phone away from his view.

Pouting, Jay sits up from his seat, suddenly feeling more invasive than usual as he rests his head on top of your shoulder to watch you reply to the message your art teacher had sent you. Feeling vexed, you shrug your shoulders harshly, trying to shake Jay off of you only to fail. After multiple times of trying to take him off, you finally heave out a defeated sigh, gathering all the composure you have left in your body to not beat him up. Eventually coming to terms at the fact that Jay isn't going to let you have your own space, you accept your fate and let him stay there as you tap your fingers on the screen of your phone to answer your teachers request.

Mrs Hwang (Art Teacher): YN, we still don't have a male muse for the portrait project tomorrow. Do you mind asking some friend of yours to volunteer?

Is she insane or just totally oblivious? Everyone knows you're an art geek loner. You're already thankful to have one friend permanently stuck to your hip so, when did she ever get the impression that you had more?

"Ooh, looking for a male muse?" You jump at the sudden voice, completely forgetting the boy that laid on your shoulder against your will.

"Can you stop meddling with other peoples businesses?" You say, now feeling actually annoyed because you have to worry about having to find a muse for your art class. It's not even like you can say no as well. Your teacher loves and adores you. At this point, she treats you like her own kid because she acknowledges the drive you have to share your painting with the world. She also said that she'd be happy to offer you an internship with one of her fancy artist friends once you're done with school and you just can't mess up your chances.

Ignoring your clear irritation, Jay continues, "I can be your muse." He suggests, smirking.

"In your dreams, Jongseong." You say clicking your tongue whilst not meeting his eyes.

"Hey!" Jay exclaims. "I told you to call me Jay not Jongseong." He presses on, tone persistent as he leans his face closer in order to persuade you. However, you don't give him an ounce of your attention, refusing to give him the satisfaction. And so, he chases you, body unconsciously pressing onto your side while he busies himself. Amidst your teasing, you don't realise this either, too busy trying to suppress the grin fighting to form between your lips.

Your playfulness lasts for a few more moments before Jay finally grunts out in defeat, letting his head fall on top of your desk with a thud. "YN, look at me." He whines like a child.

Rolling your eyes as you heave out what seemed to Jay as a deep and tired sigh, you finally turn your face to look at him. A deadpan expression is on your face as you await his next actions. Seeing that you've finally given in to his request, Jay feels his stomach start to flutter, tickling him and making him feel bubbly. The smile on his face is adorable, pleased that he's victorious and this time, you fail to keep the corners of your lips from twitching upwards.

Even your laugh is beautiful to him and he can't help but want to hear more. He's tempted to crack a joke or do something dumb in order to push you over the edge and reveal more of the amazing sounds that comes out of your mouth. But he decides against it, thinking that instead of making you laugh, he might overstep his boundaries and ruin his chance with you— well, that's him thinking he has one.

Seeing a genuine version of your smile is what sets Jays heart into a frenzy, a billion flutters that set his heart soaring through the roof. Flustered, Jay ducks his head in an attempt to hide his giddiness from you. However, he inevitably fails when he hears a chuckle escape from your mouth. His head shoots up, eyes wide and unbelieving. His heart seemed to have accelerated faster than what he could imagine, face now burning a deep red.

Clearing his throat while fixing his blazer, he resumes. "I'll be your muse." He says, tone trying to show you that his decision is final.

"No, Jay." Despite being delighted that you've used his prefered name like he's asked you too, he still frowns. Again, his pout is adorable and you almost want to give in and let him take on the job.

"But, why?" He whines, shaking defiantly in his seat. "I'll be a great muse!"

Notwithstanding, you roll your eyes for what seemed like the umpteenth time this whole interaction. "I said no." You say firmly as if commanding the boy.

His adorable pout turns into a bigger frown upon being rejected. However, the expression doesn't stay for long before it morphs into one you can only assume as mischievous as his plump lips turn into a plotting smirk, eyes gleaming with playfulness.

Seeing that, you squint your eyes at him, brows furrowing as you try to depict what's behind that look. "I swear to god, Jay. If you're planning something…"

"What? I'm not doing anything." In contradiction to his words, his face tells you that he is plotting something. If it isn't the way his smirk doesn't relent and the way his eyes still bask in the same glint, it's the way he finishes his reply with a teasing tone, clearly choosing to defy you despite your clear warning.

You were about to call him out on his actions when you're suddenly being cut off by the bell ringing and not even a second later, Jay is pushing back his seat and striding towards his own. With his hands in his pockets, there's not a doubt in your mind that he's still wearing the same smug look as he sits down on his seat. You eye him from afar and when he notices this, he gives you a curt nod, brows rising upwards as if to ask you if you needed anything as he grinned.

Why are you so against Jay being the art clubs muse, you ask?

Truthfully, you should've been ecstatic to find out that Jay, one of the hottest guys on campus— Liz's words, not yours, wanted to volunteer. So why are you prohibiting him from doing so?

Is it because you only want the two of you's interactions to strictly be inside this classroom and nowhere else? No, not really. Is it because you're ashamed to be seen by your other club members being associated with his type? Deep down, you know that's not true. In fact, you're sure that when Jay steps inside your club, he'll be bombarded by his female art geek admirers and you'll be thrown aside and forgotten. Maybe, that's what you're opposed of; having to share him with other people.

Does this mean that you're jealous? No, no, no, it can not be that. It can't possibly be that. If you're jealous, then that means you like him and you know you do not like him. In fact, he can go ahead and be a brat and ignore what you said. He can walk in there tomorrow and be crowded with fangirls and you won't even bat an eye.

If you see one person tugging on his blazer one more time, you swear to every God up there that you're going to commit a vital sin and you can only pray that they forgive you. You hate to admit it, but your right eye is twitching. Not just once, not twice, but every time some random person touches him and it's infuriating you— both the fact that someone's touching him and the fact that your eye is twitching without your consent.

Again, you're not jealous.

There you stood with your arms crossed over each other, away from the small crowd that had formed around Jay. Your back is pressed against an empty wall as you watch them gush about how hot he is, how handsome he looks, how great his physique is. It all makes you scoff, clicking your tongue as you look out of the window in annoyance after you see the smirk that paints Jays lips when he sees the annoyed expression on your face.

Despite practically being mobbed and having every female member of your art club pressed against him, his eyes are on you and there's not a single doubt in your mind that he's doing this to set you off.

The girl in front of him catches his attention when she suddenly throws herself at him. Jay only chuckles before his eyes flicker towards you and you swear a light bulb just lit up beside his head.

The excited girl starts talking animatedly at him and he makes it look like he's invested in what she's saying. He even did that panti dropping move where he swayed her hair back behind her ear. Afterwards, he looked for you, a cocky smile painted across his features, knowing full well that he did that to get a rise out of you.

He's certainly loving the attention, isn't he?

Despite your prohibitions, that hard headed motherfucker still had the nerve to come. Hence, why you have a permanent scowl on your face.

The moment Jay introduced himself as your friend and that you've brought him here as todays muse, you knew you were in for a fun time— note the sarcasm. To Jay, this must be all fun and rainbows, but to you, this is hell on earth. Admittedly, you're embarrassed to be caught with the likes of him, especially when you've vocalised time and time again how much you hate people like him. Yet, here you are, watching your art teacher usher everyone to take their seats in front of their easels while Jay sits on a sturdy table placed at the centre, posing attractively with his hands resting behind him on the table as he leans backwards. His gaze is pretty and somewhat intimidating to look at from an outsiders point of view, his lips sitting comfortably in its normal pout.

Abiding by your teachers words, you sit on your own chair and surprise surprise, it's placed right in front of him. Jay didn't know that that was your assigned seat, but seeing so, his lips had a mind of their own as no matter how hard he tried to stay still like how your teacher had asked him to be, the corners of his mouth still tinged upwards.

Already accustomed to Jays teasing antics, you only heave out a tired sigh, shaking your head in defeat as you pick up your pencil.

Might as well draw him while you're at it, right?

Truth be told, it has been a while since you've drawn someone, so you wonder how you'd do and surprisingly, you're good at it. It was scary at first, feeling nervous that you might mess up, however, the longer your pencil drags on top of your paper, the more you feel at ease. Drawing someone as pretty as Jay made you appreciate the finer things in life; the way his nose stood ever so perfectly at the center of his face, how his collarbone peaked through the shirt he wore, how his hair seemed to have been placed perfectly without effort, and lastly, the way his body looked so inviting despite being covered. All of that combined with the natural lighting of the sunset peeking through the glass windows made everything so much more appealing. Using the excuse of drawing him, you hide between the mask you wore in order to not seem like a hunter salivating for its prey as you continue to draw the guidelines for your portrait.

"I didn't know you had friends on the varsity team."

Turning your head, you come face to face with An Yujins annoying smirk plastered on what you could only assume is her face. Most of the time, you can't really tell if it's her ass or her face that's in front of you because she pushes both onto any guys face. You didn't even notice that she was sitting beside you until she opened her mouth, too preoccupied with sketching the greek god in front of you to care about her existence.

She's the definition of an ugly jealous slutty cheerleader that wants everything nice for herself. You don't even have a single clue why she's part of your club nor how she's still in it since she rarely ever attends. To add to that, you've never seen her pass a single one of her projects.

Above all the days in the week she could've chosen to come, she just had to go today and see you with the one and only varsity fuck boy.

"Well, to be honest, I'm surprised you have any friends at all."

People like her are the type to make fun and point their fingers at you for wearing your grandmas hand knitted sweaters and they're just the worst! Seriously, how can someone hate something made by someones old grandma?! The audacity these people hold still baffle you to this day, although not as much as before.

Through the years, Yujin seemed to have grown a liking for you. A liking you never asked for nor wanted. You had no idea why but she just loved to make fun of you every chance she got. It didn't matter how petty she looked nor did it ever matter to you when she tried to belittle you with rude comments and backhanded banter. Honestly, you're more upset at the fact that her jokes were never funny. If it was, you'd laugh, no matter if it was supposed to offend you because hey, if it's funny, it's funny. For instance, yesterday, she made fun of you for wearing your reading glasses, saying that you looked like you're an old maths teacher who's either widowed or divorced. A week ago, she caught you eating a chocolate bar in front of your locker while you were casually minding your own business with Liz and she told you how fat you were getting. You were about to tell her to get lost when Liz decided to fight back and told her that she had more fat rolls than Fat Amy. That little firecracker! Ugh, you just love her to bits.

In the early days, you would fire back at her mercilessly, coming up with the wittiest of replies, but before you knew it, you grew up. Suddenly, you felt spent. You got tired of the whole cat and mouse bickering and for once, you turned your life upside down and chose to be mature. That didn't seem to have sat well with Yunjin though as from then on, her attempt to torment you went from every so often to very often. Of course, being the strong and independent woman that you are, you never took any of her insults to heart— not like they offended you either way. You simply ignored her or told her to get lost and that you weren't interested. Obviously, she gets angry but being the pussy that she is, you knew she was never going to get into anything physical with you because if she did, she'd lose in an instant. With that lanky ass body of hers, even your four year old sister can.

So, wanting nothing to do with the likes of her, you divert your attention back to the hunk of a man that sat in front of you. However, you're greeted with a different expression than before as now, his brows are furrowed with wonder and question. He looks at you silently, his eyes somewhat shining thinly with jealousy and betrayal while his normal pout drags down into a frown as if to ask how you could take your eyes off of him when he's laid out in front of you so deliciously.

"Mr. Park, please refrain from moving your face." Your art teacher asks.

Jay replies with a grunt at being told off before he looks up front. He lets out a satisfied hum when he sees that your eyes have found their way back to him, now happily resting them back in their previous form.

After that small fiasco, Jay tried his hardest from then on not to move. He didn't want to cause any more commotion and make you fuck up the portrait you were drawing of him. He wanted to see how well you sketched him later on when the session was done.

Staying still for an hour proved to be harder than he thought, especially when your eyes looked so deeply at every part of him. After a torturous ten minutes of you looking at every detail of his face, he's fought and lost to the blush that persistently wanted to make its way up his cheeks when he saw you eyeing the skin of his throat. Correct him if he's wrong but he swears he can see the way your eyes fire up after he took a huge gulp. The way you were staring every time his adams apple bobbed or when the muscles on his neck flexed made him even more flustered.

He fought the urge to recoil with every feeling of you overwhelming him in such a public scene, suppressing the sexual thoughts that clouded his mind. You were doing nothing but what you were asked to do, so why does he feel so bothered by something he's supposed to be used to? Girls staring at him is a normal occurance to Jay, but for some reason, you make him feel overwhelmed.

Jay is terrible at concealing his thoughts and it's apparent in the way he avoids eye contact that you're the reason behind it. Seeing just that, you try to hide the egotistic smirk that’s on your face, not wanting to stand out amongst your peers. In an attempt to recollect yourself, you intake a hefty breath before rolling your shoulders back to loosen your tensed muscles before going back to work on adding shadows onto your portrait.

From then on, the minutes passed by staring at you. I mean, what else was he supposed to do? It kept him preoccupied and it gave him the excuse to stare back at you; the way your brows furrowed together in concentration, the way you pout whenever he assumes you made a wrong stroke, heck, he even longed to crane his neck to the side so he can see more of the way your fingers wrapped elegantly around your pencil. Everything about you seemed so enchanting to him, captivating him and encasing him in your prison. He's addicted to having more of you and he's driven to have just that because one way or another, Park Jay always gets what he wants.

The hour soon then passed and before he could even grasp what was happening, your teacher's already patting him on the back, telling him how good he did.

As asked, you all lean your canvases on an empty wall, awaiting for your teachers evaluation as the others compare their respective portraits with each others. Jay was told by your teacher he could leave if he wanted, but like he said earlier, he wanted to have a look at your portrait. So, he declined.

Jay never had any interest in art and poetry, but since meeting you, he feels like a whole new person. Never in his lifetime did he have to search the web for romantic poems nor has he ever awed when looking at someones canvas and yet, here he is. Everything he's doing is foreign, like the way you make him feel. And as he continues to stare at the portrait you drew of him, he's once again in awe of you. He can't help but wonder how someone can be so perfect doing something they're passionate about.

Folding your arms, you stand next to Jay, patiently waiting for his feedback because after all, he is your muse. "So," You start, palms pressing onto your thigh to wipe off the thin layer of sweat forming. "How'd I do?"

The boy jumps. He didn't notice you were there, standing beside him. "G-Good! Really good, actually." He answers, stuttering to blurt out an answer. Jays cheeks blush, feeling flustered.

Heaving out a sigh in relief, you chuckle at yourself, finding it funny how you were nervous for nothing.

Jay clears his throat, trying to compose himself before blurting out his next response. "You must've enjoyed looking at me a lot, huh?"

And just like that, the adorable smile on your face is wiped off, a frown replacing it. However, Jay isn't complaining because as much as he loves that cute smile on your face, he's just as deeply in love with the fire in your eyes whenever you get annoyed at him. He thinks your scowls are pretty, it makes him want to tease you more often and that's just what he does to you every single day after that.

The day he saw the way you scowled at him after he teased you, is the same day his heart seemed to have fallen for you. And along with his heart, came his body next as it seemed to have always yearned to be either close or next to you.

That's why you never thought much of it.

Since that fateful day, Jay has gotten even touchier than he already was. As time went by, it started to evolve from Jay poking his fingers at your sides for fun, to jumping you and taking you in for a hug whenever he sees you in the hallways. It was never romantic though and was always accompanied by a teasing glint.

Granted, you did get angry every time he tried touching you, still deeming him as more of an acquaintance rather than a close friend. However, as moments pass, Jays repetitive routine of touching, teasing, and then annoying you became as normal as you and Liz walking to school together. Although you never asked for Jay to be in your life, there's no doubt that it'd feel incomplete without him.

Over the course of the months, you've developed an odd relationship for the boy. It kind of makes you reminisce of the time you and Yujin used to bicker. The difference is that Jays mischievousness always takes one of three forms; flirty pick-up lines, defiance, and lastly, clinginess. Out of the 3, you adore the first one the most and could make good riddance of the second. As for the last one, you're only left confused.

Jays pick-up lines are to die for. They're always either humourly cheesy or impeccably horny— both of which makes you double over laughing even when he hasn't finished his line yet.

"I'm not even playing cards right now and I pulled a queen." Jays triumphant grin is contagious and no matter how hard you hold back your laughter, you just can't— especially when Liz is cackling behind you.

"That's so stupid, Jay." You say, shaking your head. Contradicting your own words, your smile is evident and Jay can't get enough. So, he decides to tell you more, hoping to get the same, if not, a better reaction out of you.

"You know," He starts. "I'm like Nike and you're like McDonalds."

"Oh yeah?" Seeing the smirk on Jays face only makes your own grin grow wider as you await to complete his joke, already at the edge of laughter. "Why?"

Clearing his throat, he answers. "Because I'm just doing it and you're loving it."

"Oh my god." You sigh before covering your face to hide the guilty smile you wore while your giggles furiously try to break free. "Now, that's just you being horny Jay."

Wanting to see your bright face, Jay leans closer to your seat. He wraps his fingers around your wrist in an attempt to pull them away from your face, but to his dismay, you don't budge. "Let me see you~" He whines.

"No~" You drag, mimicking his tone. "That was so bad!" You press on, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment in yourself for laughing at such a stupid pick-up line.

"You clearly love it!" He exclaims, teasing you while leaning his face closer to yours despite it still being covered by your hands. "Now let me see you!"

"No, I don't." You fire back, pulling your hands away and looking at him. "But, tell me more."

Second, the boys defiance brings edge to his comical personality. Jay lives to see the enraged look on your face whenever he defies your simple orders and he'd never admit it to you himself, but that's what gets him going.

At night, when he's all alone with his thoughts, his mind fills with scenes of him under you, begging for mercy. With all the authority you like to show, there's not a single hint of doubt in his mind that you like being in control, and he's willing to give you just that. Above all the women he's been with, you've repeatedly brought out a side of him that even he was heedless of— and this isn't any different.

Laying with his chest up and back pressed onto the soft fabric of his mattress, Jays breath quickens as he pushes himself to dive deeper into his fantasy. The thought consists of you and only you. With his hands dragging across the wide of his chest, he imagines it's your long and slender ones and not his. He drools at the possible feeling of your nails scratching on his body, making him release a quivered breath.

Already feeling the pent up frustration building up in his boxers, he pushes his hair back before groping his hardening dick. He presses the palm of his hand directly on it, teasing himself as he envisions the proud look on your face as you watch him crumble under your supposed touch.

"Fuck this." He concludes before pushing himself off of the mattress. Reaching beside him to open his bedside drawer, he grabs something he usually only uses for desperate times.

Jay gets bitches. So, there's simply no need for pocket pussies and fleshlights. But there'll come a time in a varsity players life where sleeping around is simply impossible to do. When schedules are pact with classes he has to attend to, practices he has to participate in, and rugby matches he has to win, there's just no time to be flirting. So, he bought a fleshlight just to solve that predicament.

Leaning back and getting comfortable on his bed, Jay leans against the headboard and quickly shakes off his pajamas, lifting his hips up in the process. Once that was off, he watched as his cock lay tensed and angry on top of his stomach, ready for any sort of pleasure. Already feeling impatient, Jay spurts a good amount of lube inside the toy and afterwards, he spits on it, letting the lube mix with his own lubricant.

Feeling his breath growing faster as the excitement grows, Jay brings the toy closer to his dick. His mouth salivates, anticipating the pleasure that's yet to come. "Shit, YN. Just give it to me already." He says as he imagines you teasing him, lining the toy close to his dick.

Finally taking the whole skin of his leaking head inside, Jay releases a cross between a broken moan and a satisfied groan before taking all of his dick inside it all at once. Immediate pleasure fills the boys consciousness as he takes his bottom lip in between his teeth to suppress himself from moaning too loud. It's been too long since he's had any sort of pleasure from anything, mind too caught up in your existence. Not to mention the fact that he literally only wants you and no one else. After Jay found out that his feelings for you were growing more intimate than he'd like to, he tried his hardest to get hard for someone else.

The boy has never had a crush on anyone and naturally, he felt scared— both at the unknown and the possibility of being rejected. So, he went out to parties, tried to hook up with the usual sluts around campus. But whenever someone other than you touches him in any sort of provocative way, his mind just shuts down and his body starts reacting in a negative way. What used to be Jays favorite pastime now became his worst enemy because from then on, Jay couldn't think of having sex with anyone other than you. Soon enough, Jay accepted the fact that he can never have someone better than you. You've never even flirted with Jay yet his mind is already creating scenarios of the two of you together.

That's when he started working harder to get close to you because maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right, you might end up liking him back. It doesn't even have to be on the same heights as his feelings for you. If he succeeds and you like him back just a tiny ounce, then he can die happy. If he doesn't succeed and he fails to make you fall in love with him then it'd be a curse he'd have to bear with for the rest of his life because he knows that despite it, he couldn't ever leave you alone anymore.

He imagines the scenario of you chuckling at him, mocking him for breaking apart so easily, calling him your desperate little slut in the process. Too immersed, Jay replies, "S-Shit. 'M not your slut."

The sounds of the toy squelching with every pump drives Jay mad, mind growing hazier by the minute. The toy makes him feel wonders and he's only left to imagine how good your pussy would feel if you ever let him fuck you. He thinks that if a toy feels this good on his dick, then there's no way you won't feel euphoric once he gets a chance to bury his dick inside your wet cunt.

It's not even past five minutes and yet, he can already feel his high approaching so quickly. With his mind flooded with images of you, his hand guides the toy faster, trying to drive him over the edge of his orgasm before pulling the toy off his dick completely.

He chokes out a small cry in vain as all the pleasure vanishes. A string of curses leaves his lips after, not believing the fact that he's actually torturing himself just to get a taste of you in his imagination.

He envisions you doing this to him; bringing him close to ecstasy and then taking it all away right before he can get the chance to cum. It's torturous having to repeat the same agenda on himself, especially when it's not you actually doing it. But he does so either way despite the pain and after a few more agonising denials, Jay finally decided to change positions.

Now positioning himself on all fours, Jay takes a pillow and places it right below his groin, resting the toy on top after. His right hand holds the fleshlight in place while the other rests on top of his pillow as leverage. Feeling comfortable again to resume his actions, he inserts his dick back in the toy, throwing his head back in pleasure as he releases a long dragged moan of your name.

Jay starts thrusting into the toy with more vigor, jaw flexing as he clenches his teeth together. "Come on, Jay." Your voice says from inside his head. "Prove to me you aren't some worthless toy I can easily throw away."

Without wasting any more time, Jays thrusts grow near animalistic, pounding into the toy with more force. Lube mixed with his precum drips onto the mattress whenever he makes the move to retract his dick from the toy before drilling it back inside.

If there's anything in this world that Jay holds dear, that's you… and his pride. Jay knows he's good at everything so, when you, his beloved crush, tells him that he's practically a piece of filth you can't wait to throw away, Jays body fills with rage. How can you come up with such a lie? Those days that were filled with staring at you didn't go to waste because now, Jay feels like he knows your body inside and out. He knows every dip on your body, every mole visible on your skin and if there were more that he hasn't yet discovered, then he'll make sure to scout for them when he gets the chance to. He's determined to prove to you that he's irreplaceable, that no one can give you a better time than he does.

"Fuck, YN." He pants your name out, voice shaking with each powerful thrust. "I'm so close, YN. I'm gonna cum."

He tried to wait longer, he really did. He didn't want to cum in his own hands. Instead, he wanted to cum in your presence, wanting to show you how hot he looks when he cums. But inevitably, he failed.

Chanting your name, Jay finally lets himself reach his own high. With his body lurched forwards as he presses his face onto the sheets, his hips grind onto the toy while he rides himself off of his high, filling the toy with a huge load his hot cum.

His gut tells him that you'd love to humiliate him after. He can see you telling him how dumb he is for letting himself cum before you and he can only imagine how you'll punish him. Would you sit on his face and tell him to eat you out until you cum on his tongue? Or maybe, you'd tell him to sit down and ride him until you're satisfied, ignoring his pleas despite the overwhelming feeling of your vagina on his cock after he just came?

Either way, he's drunk and spent. But despite that, he won't make it easy for you. With all his might, he'll talk back and fire senseless retorts at you, wanting to drive you over the edge of insanity, completely unaware that it's already happening to him.

Lastly, Jays clinginess is something you didn't think you'd get used to this fast. All that talk about not wanting to be in the same vicinity as rugby players seemed to have flown past your head because look at you now; a jock practically purring on your shoulder as it napped. For a gym addict, Jays body is strong yet gentle, muscular yet soft, and heavy yet light. Polar opposites yet they conjure up the perfect qualities for a human being.

You have no idea how you two got into this situation nor do you remember who instigated it. The only thing you know is the feeling of comfort being close to Jay brings. It's odd, feeling the skin on skin contact with someone you're supposed to despise. Yet, you don't have the will-power to pull away. Perhaps, you have Jay to blame for that. Maybe your resolve isn't as strong as you think and you're developing feelings that're deeper, more romantic.

How did you let yourself fall for him?

One Friday afternoon when your literature class unfortunately got cancelled, the whole class was told that they were free to go and spend their vacant time however they wanted. Finding nothing else to do, you offered to go out to the school field and have a small picnic date together with Liz. But with your pro procrastinator best friend having a ton of pending assignments left, she told you to just go there with Jay while she tries finishing some of them.

Of course, still refusing to prove Liz right, you fake vomited, telling her that there was no way in hell you were going to have a picnic with Mr. Hot Shot Rugby Player and proceeded to go alone. Luckily, the said boy didn't hear your best friends suggestion and you were able to have a moment of peace before you realize that Jay was actually following behind you all this long.

"Jay," You call out his name in warning. "What're you doing here?"

"Nothing really. Just casually strolling since I have nothing to do." He answers, eyes staring at the horizon as his hands rest inside his pockets in a carefree manner. "Oh, having a picnic? Mind if I join?"

The boy doesn't give you a chance to reply before he's already making himself feel comfortable on the blanket. Prior to this, you had set up the blanket near a tall tree. You wanted to enjoy the cold breeze outside without the scorching heat of the sun burning your skin.

Noticing the small canvas that sat idly on top of the blanket, he asks, "You gonna paint?"

Accepting your fate and the fact that you aren't going to get rid of him, you take a deep breath as you try to compose your thoughts. "Yeah, I was planning to."

"Well, don't let me stop you, babe." He says right before leaning back on his hands, feeling smug.

Complying with his words with a huff, you take the small canvas in your arms either way. With your watercolor paint set securely on top of the picnic blanket, you take a fine brush, ready to start painting whatever comes to mind when Jay speaks. "Do you think you can draw me again?"

"No," Thinking that you're done, an immediate pout makes its way onto Jays face and he's ready to convince you otherwise when suddenly, you cut him off by finishing your sentence. "I don't have a pencil right now. I only have these with me." You add, gesturing towards your palette.

At that, Jay nods his head in understanding, however, a pout is still set on his face, yearning to be your muse once again. Looking over to him, you watch his face silently and while oblivious to your stare, Jay picks up a few small pebbles laying near the tree. He tosses them towards the distance, finding nothing to do. You sigh, feeling yourself cave in. "Come here then. I guess I can paint your silhouette or something."

Like an owner calling their cute kitten over, Jay whips his head towards your direction, feline eyes shining immensely with happiness before he conceals it, wanting to play hard to get. "Nah, I don't wanna bother you." He says in a mockingly sad tone.

Rolling your eyes at Jay antics, you pull his arm lazily so he could lean closer to you. "Come on, Jay. Before I change my mind."

Though it wasn't the first time yours and Jays skin has touched, it was the first time you instigated it. Jay has always been the one touching you, being clingy, and annoying— It was never you. The feeling is new and he can't help but freeze at the contact. Even after, his cheeks are set ablaze as the skin of your arms are still pressed together while he sits stiffly next to you. Noticing this, you ask, "You okay, pretty boy?"

Clearly, you said the name to tease him. Since day one, you were in love with the picture of Jays face looking dangerously red and flustered. Wanting to see the look on his face that you missed so dearly, you used the nickname in hopes to see it again. And it worked, Jays posture goes stiffer, his back straightening while he holds his breath.

A simple act of skinship initiated by you is new to him, although he knows it doesn't have the same effect on you as it does him. The gesture also doesn't tell him what your feelings are for him. But this, a pet name, was something he could only imagine receiving from you and here he is now, receiving it. It makes him speechless, mind searching desperately for a comeback that conceals how weak he is for you, but he fails to do so, heartbeat beating too loud for his mind to function.

From your perspective, Jays reactions are always adorable. Yes, he has his moments wherein he acts like a brat— a spoiled one at that, but you can't deny the fact that you're willing to entertain him. It's something that's beyond your grasp, something uncontrollable. You do it so often and most of the time, you aren't even aware of it. Your body just seems to react that way to him, whether you like it or not. Right now, you know deep down that Jay holds a place reserved only for him in your heart. So, you ask, can his feelings ever be true?

Despite what you think, you continue spending the rest of the free time you had with the boy and from then on, you've come to form a bond with him that was totally unexpected, and yet, you wouldn't trade it for anything in the universe. If only you just had the guts to tell him how you feel.

"By the way, Jake's holding a party at his house this Saturday. I was sorta hoping you'd come?" He asks as the two of you lean side by side on the tree.

You hum, eyes closed as you rested. "We'll see."

Dusting the nonexistent dust off of the fabric of your black leather jeans, you take a look in the mirror for the first time since you came rushing back to your house.

Prior to this, you had gone home last Friday night to go and visit your parents back in the countryside. You came back at around 7pm and since then, you've been hastily trying to gather an outfit for the same party Jay had invited you to come to, all the while fighting with your own consciousness whether or not it was a good thing to go.

You're not one to go to parties like this one. There's just something about partying with people you know from school that irks you. You'd much rather go to some local bar and get drunk off your head with strangers. But, like most decisions you make when Jay's involved, it gets thrown away towards the deepest corner of your brain, forgotten and neglected.

Stepping inside the huge mansion decorated with tons upon tons of littered empty beer bottles and chip bags, you almost turn around and leave before the sweet fragrance of Jay's cologne hits you, enveloping you in such a sweet scent. How can you leave?

"YN~" He whines, obviously drunk out of his mind as he clings onto your arm. " 've been wai—ting for… you… all night." In his drunken state, Jay leans his full weight onto you, legs probably feeling like jelly as the alcohol floods his system.

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" You reply to him, enveloping his hands in yours to guide them towards your shoulder, wanting to provide him some leverage. Afterwards, your hands find their way towards the small of his waist in order to steady his body, afraid that the boy might collapse from the amounts of alcohol he's intook.

He answers you with several cute nods before stuffing his face into the crook of your neck, sighing comfortably. The boy seemed as if he was drunk out of his mind and you were about to ask him if he was okay before he cut you off. "I— I thought you not gonna come~" He drags in a pout. "Thought you… ditched… me."

By the tone of his voice, you can tell that Jay's about to pass out. So, making the decision to help him to bed, you made your way through the mass of sweaty teenagers on the dance floor and walked with him towards the kitchen. There was no use asking Jay where a guest room was located as the boy was now practically half asleep. With half of his body weight hung on your shoulder, the boy's purring onto your neck as you drag his body while you walk.

Catching sight of a familiar blonde haired boy rummaging through the fridge with a few bottles in his hands, you decide to call his name. "Jake," You huff, readjusting your grip on Jay as you feel him slipping between your arms. Jay whines at the sudden jolt, hands tightening around your neck as he places airy kisses onto the side of it, where his head was tucked in.

At the call of his name, Jake turns his attention away to find you with an impeccably drunk Jay clinging onto you like a koala. To Jake, the scene looked funny and amusing because this was the first time he saw Jay in such a vulnerable scene. If it was any other girl he was clinging to, Jake wouldn't have wasted a second to take his friend away and tend to him on his own, feeling worried for the boys well-being. But since he knows Jays romantic bond with you, he's at ease.

"Hey, YN." He greets, posture straightening. "That's quite the situation you've got there." He says, hands gesturing towards you and how Jays arms seem to be wrapped around you without a thought of letting go.

"Yeah," You agree with a huff, feeling out of breath. "I could use some help actually."

Rolling your eyes at the boy, you accept your faith, realizing how alike the two best friends are. "Thanks…" You trail off. "Is there a room I can put Jay in? I think he's gonna pass out."

Without missing a beat, Jake replies. "Nah." He smirks. "I think you've got it under control."

"Yeah, there's a guest room upstairs. Just go up. Last room to the right." He points towards the flight of stairs and you nod, taking the information in before you grip Jays body tighter as you make your way up the stairs and into the room the blondie told you to go to.

Opening the lights inside the dark room, you try not to stumble and fall to the ground, feeling your grip loosening. In fear of dropping the poor boy on the hard ground, you quickly waddle towards the bed and gently plopping Jay down into the soft mattress.

Attempting to untangle his arms from your neck proved to be difficult as the boy just seemed to bound himself to you like steel. No matter how hard you try, Jays resolve doesn't falter, leaving you with no choice but to lay there awkwardly until he falls asleep.

"YN~" You hear his sudden voice call out to you in the same drunk and dragged out manner. "Stay~" He pouts.

All you do is smile at his cuteness, reaching a hand up to sway his bangs away from his face. "Go to sleep, Jay. Get some rest." You say as your hand stays on the crown of his head, scratching his scalp.

At the act of service, Jay groans contently under your touch. "You're so pretty YN." He sighs, drunk eyes watching you take your jacket off in a dreamlike manner.

This time, you laugh, both at his drunken confession and because of the look on his face. Sober Jay would never confess that you were pretty aloud— not in this way at least. When complimenting you, Jay always had more creative ways to get his message through, whether it's by teasing you or by using his corny ass pick-up lines. Still, those simple words made your heart flutter and so, in a whisper, "You're pretty too." you say.

A dopey smile makes its way onto the boys face, undoubtedly feeling satisfied with your answer. "Lay down with me." He commands.

Although you know he's just being playful, you still wanted to tease him back by lecturing him and you were about to do just that before he suddenly pulls you down under him. All the air gets knocked out of your lungs, the action taking you by surprise. With wide eyes, you stare baffled at the man position on top of you, body placed between your legs while his face hovers only mere inches above yours. "J-Jay?" Hearing yourself stutter, you almost curse yourself for being so easily vulnerable.

Despite you calling out to him, Jay doesn't move an inch off of you, only moving nearer and in the heat of want and need, you do too. Quite frankly, now that he's so close, your senses fill with every bit of the boy. His cologne is the only thing you can smell, your bodies are practically pressed against each other, and with his face so close to you, he's the only thing you can see. The only thing missing is the taste of him then you'll be complete, the both of you will. And it seems like that's just what's about to happen because before you knew it, your surroundings seemed to move in slow motion, the only thing making sense is him as his nose touched yours, eyes begging for progress.

Satisfied with his silent plea, you bring your faces closer and let him get a taste of what it's like to be engulfed by you. Both yours and Jays eyes are now closed, lips awaiting to collide and when it does, an endless spray of fireworks seem to erupt. You kiss him light and gentle, afraid he'll regret his actions and pull away. But when he doesn't, your heart melts, feeling joyous at his acceptance.

It's not only you who feels that way, but also Jay, maybe even more so. He's the one that fell in love with you first, thus, meaning he's waited the longest out of the both of you. He tried to keep his emotions at bay, but the beer in his system seemed to have other plans as what Jay thought would be an innocent night where the two of you can get to know each other now turned into a hot makeout session. Jay isn't complaining however, how can he when he thought this was only possible in his dreams?

When the plush feeling of your lips leave his, Jay craves for more and you happily dive back into him. This time, you kiss him harder just like he requested. The whine he lets out just fuels your sex drive even stronger and you're determined to ruin him.

"YN," He calls with his eyes closed, feeling breathless. You reply to him with an airy hum, hands caressing the wide of his chest under his shirt, nails barely grazing over his nipples before wrapping them around his waist so you can continue teasing him with your hips. "S— ah, stop. I— I might…"

The feeling of having you, kissing you, feels so surreal to the boy. It's like a dream and he's just waiting to wake up and feel reality crashing down and disappoint him. He can't help but compare it to the numerous wet dreams he's had of you, except this time, it's all real. You're really making out with him, you're really putting your tongue inside his mouth and he's letting you.

The wet muscle of your tongue explores the space of Jays mouth as his hand possessively roams around your figure. His hands trail between the valley of your breasts to the curve of your hips and roots them there. The grip he has on you only gets tighter when you retract your tongue from his mouth to suck on his lips instead. His mouth hangs ajar, his loud moans spilling out uncontrollably, feeling your hips grinding up to rub on his boner.

"Might, what?" You ask, voice laced with ego while cocking an eyebrow up as you watch him struggle to form words knowing that you're the cause of it. "Baby can't speak now?" You pout, cooing at the quivering boy on top of you.

With the feeling of you tapping his cheek so affectionately, Jay groans in embarrassment. "You're the one getting worked up." He teases back in an attempt to collect the pieces of his pride that's been chipped off, digging his knee into your clothed vagina, wanting to get a reaction out of you. Instead, it's him who ends up moaning, throwing his head back when he feels the mixture of your heat and wetness through the fabric of his pants which, by the way, he was just dying to take off. His teasing seems to be for nothing because you just lay there all pretty whilst agreeing to everything he says as you couldn't deny the fact that his words were all true. He is making you hot and bothered and there's no use in denying it.

Your confidence only makes Jay harder, now grunting at his failed attempt to fluster you. At this point, Jays pants are suffocating and he desperately wants to tear them off. He feels like he's getting blue balled and that has never happened to a hot boy like him. With you, Jay experiences all sorts of firsts; first crush, first love, first blue balls— he could do with the last one, but in the end, he wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the world.

"YN, please." He begs, practically on the verge of tears as his cheeks blossom a deeper shade of red, both because of the heat your body exudes and your words. "Do something— Oomf!"

Ignoring Jays pleas, you catch the boy by surprise by flipping the both of you over. Now, you're on top of him and he's below you, looking up, like how it should be. As Jay lies down with his arms bent at the same level of his head, you take your place and sit on top of his lap, feeling his erection pressing into your heat.

"There we go." You chuckle, looking down at the boy and leaning closer to his face. Thinking that you're going to kiss him, Jay leans up in expectation, only to chase your lips up when you pull away. Jay prepares himself for an endless night of teasing, now practically sober yet it feels like he's getting drunk again. It's just that this time, it's not because of the alcohol, but because of you. "Isn't this better, Jay?"

"It was better when I was on top of you." He says, snarkily.

"Ah," You sigh out, realizing what Jay's doing. "You aren't going to make it easy for yourself, are you, baby?"

"Yeah," He laughs, loving the way he's rilling you up. "Fuck you." Both Jays body and mind tries his hardest not to show a reaction when you had called him by his favorite pet name and he almost succeeds, but alas, Jays dick has different things in mind.

Feeling his dick twitch under you, you can't help but laugh at his pathetic attempt to mask his emotions. "Oh come on, baby. Don't act like a brat now." You coo, steadily grinding down onto his dick. "We both know you're just dying to please me."

With every motion of your hips grinding on Jays boner, he can't help but choke on his own saliva, feeling his mind growing dizzy with every act. "YN… Do something."

Both yours and Jays body crave to be touched, to be against each other and so, you do just what your bodies want. Leaning forward, you bring your lips to his. Initially, you had planned to tease him further with light feathery kisses but the thought soon flew out the window when Jay tried to make it dirtier by inserting his tongue inside your mouth. The innocent, teasing kiss soon turns into a hot and messy make out session as you gladly suck on the muscle of his tongue, soon falling in love with every sound that falls outside his lips.

Your hands make their way to Jays face, holding his face steady as you angle your face to the side in order to deepen the kiss. Jays eyes are closed, too occupied with kissing you that if he were to open them and see the mouth watering view of you on top of him, he'd just cum in his pants and that's the last thing Jay wants to do.

Brushing his bangs back, your fingers then thread onto the strands of his hair, tangling them before pulling his head back so you could have free access to his neck. Your mouth leaves his and he almost whines at the loss of contact before he cuts himself off with a whimper when he feels you lick a thick stripe from the bottom of his neck to the edge of his jaw.

"You're such a whiny little thing, Jay." You comment, breath fanning his neck and effectively sending shivers down his spine. You don't give him a chance to reply before your mouth latches onto the skin of his neck, sucking and biting enough for it to give Jay the harsh feeling of pleasure but not enough to leave marks. The said boy releases a string of curses, mouth falling open as he doesn't even bother to conceal the desperate moans in his chest.

Your tongue licks at the bump of his adams apple before taking it in your mouth. When Jay gulps, his adams apple moves and you chase it, humming delightfully when you feel Jays fingers latching onto your shirt to get a grasp of reality. Effectively covering the skin with your saliva, you then move on to the line of Jay's jaw. You've been eyeing this specific part of his face for the longest time since you've met him. Whenever Jay would randomly pop up and decide to stick with you, you always take the chance to admire his jaw whenever he's looking away. You just know that if he ever catches you then you're in for a life of endless teasing. But now that he's here, willingly angling his head to the side to show off his stunning jaw to you, you can't help but greedily feast on it. There's not a chance in this world you'd pass up the opportunity to do whatever you wanted to him. And you do just that; you use your tongue to trace the sharp line of Jay's jaw, peppering it with kisses from time to time. As you kiss him, Jay's hands rake your scalp, trying to find something to hold onto as you cover him with your scent.

After all that's done, you take a look at the dishevelled man under you. His forehead is shining with a thin sheet of sweat, lips plump and swollen due to the endless amounts of kissing the both of you did, his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath he takes, and lastly, the hint of his abs peeking through his shirt is what sends you over the edge. Your mouth is watering, searching for something to do just to get a bigger reaction out of him and not to mention the fact that your wetness is practically seething through the thin layer of your jeans.

"Wait, shit. I forgot," Suddenly, your hands stop from pulling his boxers out. Feeling edged, Jay lets out a choked sob, followed by a loud whine. He looks at you expectantly, eyes begging for you to just forget whatever it is. "Condom, honey. Do you have one?"

You want to fuck Park Jay so bad, you're willing to beg for it. Luckily, it's Jay who breaks first. With stray lines of tears falling from the corner of his eyes, Jay begs, "Please, YN. Fuck me, please, please."

And that's all he had to say before you quickly took his pants off and threw them to the ground in a hurry, unafraid to show your own eagerness.

A condom, a fucking condom. That's what's banning Jay from getting his noodle wet. He's about to throw a tantrum, it's going to be loud, childish, and annoying. You can just tell from the way his face consorts in disapproval that you're going to be dealing with a bigger brat if you don't give baby Jay what he wants. But at the end of the day, your point is valid, and as Jay rummages through his pockets in search of a condom, he fails to find any. You watch him as he leans to his side, looking through the drawers of the bedside table, practically resembling a starved dog scavenging for food when he cries out, and you can only take that as a sign that there isn't any here.

"None?" You watch him amused, a smile dancing across your face. Leaning close, you take his head and cradle him to your chest, attempting to console the boy.

"There's none!" He screams out, pouting as he digs his nose deeper into the crook of your neck. "YN~ My balls are hurting." He whines, kicking his legs behind you.

Acknowledging his pain, you pat the boys head before leaning away. "I'll go get one, yeah?" You ask.

Like an excited child, Jay hurriedly nods while watching you get up from his lap and standing in front of him at the foot of the bed. "Hurry hurry."

"Oh, don't sound so eager, Jay. You look like you're just begging for me to fuck you." You chuckle, hands resting on your hips.

"But I am, though." He finally admits. Jay bites his lip when he sees you coming closer before pecking him, telling him that you'll be quick and ordering him not to move.

You don't even get ten steps away from the room before you see Yunjin leaning against the wall with her hands crossed in front of her chest. She turns to you, giving you a once over. "Oh, it's you." She says before scoffing. "I didn't think Jay would be able to win this year because of you, but I guess that man's just has his ways, huh?"

Like a million pound truck sending you flying aback, or like a bucket of ice cold water being poured onto you, you're frozen, unable to move as reality comes crashing down onto you. Your heart beat stops and for a moment, you thought it would stay that way forever before she speaks again. "Oh?" She asks with interest, a smirk playing across her lips as she tilts her head to the side in order to provoke you. "Did you really think Jay, the Park Jay, wanted to fuck you because he loved you? Did little miss artsy YN fall in love?"

Why does loving someone always has to come with a catch? You guessed that this is why it hurts so much, because love is sinful and unforgiving. Just when you were ready to let him inside your bubble, thinking that he'd take care and cherish it with you, instead, he popped it with little to no care.

Blood rushes through you and you can feel your knuckles itching for contact. Yunjins face looks so punchable right now and you just want to ever so lightly tap it. How can you be so stupid to forget? To think that all the teasing, all the pick-up lines, and all the moments you shared together were just part of his stupid plan to get you. Now, It all makes sense; Him suddenly growing interested in you and him acting like you're the most pretty thing in this crude world. In the end, it was all for show. And you knew it. From the beginning, you had already suspected that he was only getting close to you because you were apart of his fuck list.

But can you blame yourself? The adoration you felt with him was so addicting it felt real.

Maybe, that's how Jay worked. Maybe, that's the effect he has on people. You knew from the start that Jay was the type of guy to get whatever he wanted and yet, you were stupid enough to forget it all because you fell in love with him.

"You know, I didn't think you were going to be that easy to get, YN. But I guess I was wrong about you." She comments without you asking. "You're just a little two faced nerd looking for attention."

If you weren't coursing with anger before then you are now. Eventually, your knuckles turn a baffling shade of white due to the amount of strength you're putting on it and just when you were about to leave and head to your car, Yunjin breathes and that's all it took for your fist to collide with her jaw.

Despite the booming sound of music through the speakers, the crackling sound of her jaw breaking still finds its way to tear through the tensed air. Yunjin doubles back, palm cupping her jaw as she looks at you with shock and bafflement. You can feel her hatred for you bubbling up, but you don't care. You leave her there despite her enraged calls for you to come back and fight her again, to show the world who you truly are, but you tuck her voice at the back of your mind as you make your way down the stairs and out of the fucking mansion.

You're enraged with hatred and disgust, both for the boy and Yunjin. The more you think of it, the more you realize that you should've thanked her actually. Because of her, you've finally come to your senses. If it weren't for her, there's a possibility you would've given in to his plan and lost all sense of your pride. Making a mental note to apologise to her soon, you speed up your car, trying to erase all the memories you have of the boy in your mind.

Too caught up in your own feelings, you don't realize that you've left Jay there in the guest room by himself, waiting for you to return. And he would've waited even longer if Yunjin hadn't staggered inside and told him that you left.

"Wh— Huh?" Jay asks, still surprised to see the girl inside the same room you two had made out in and promised to make love. "Did something happen? Is she hurt?" Jay rushes to button up his pants as he stands up from the bed, ready to look for you in case you really were in trouble.

"No," Yunjin says, sliding down the wall and planting herself on the carpeted floor. "She already knows, Jay. You don't need to pretend you like her anymore." She chuckles.

Jay looks at her with question marks practically floating above his head, wondering what the hell she was talking about. In fact, Jay doesn't even know who this girl is. When Yunjin sees this, she carries on to remind him. "The game, Jay."

That's when it finally hits him. You think that he's doing all this because of the game. Jay immediately goes into panic, mind creating alarming scenarios of you leaving him forever. He thinks he fucked it all up even though the game was the last thing on his mind at this point. He can't let you think that that's why he's doing this, he can't let you think that he isn't ready to do everything for you. He needs to confess and that's what he plans on doing.

Noticing the panic in Jays eyes, Yunjin finally realizes that this wasn't his objective, that this isn't what the boy wanted. Slowly, it dawns on her that the boy isn't doing this because of the game anymore. It's evident in the way he rushes to find his phone, feet jittering as he hurriedly taps on his phone to dial your number and when you don't answer, tears start spilling from Jays eyes.

"You love her," She asks, eyes concentrated on him as she too, is in shock. "Don't you?"

Looking blankly at your contact number on his phone screen, he answers, "Yeah," He gulps, mouth catching his lips, trying to conceal his whimpers. "I do."

My muse: YN, please answer. Let me explain.

A whole three hours have passed since you left Jay alone in Jakes mansion and the boy has never felt this depressed in his life. He had tried calling you a staggering total of 163 times, left messages asking to talk and yet, none were answered.

My muse: I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you. I never intended to make a fool out of you.

My muse: I need you, YN. Don't leave me, please.

My muse: Are you safe at least? Did you get home safely? I'm not sure if you brought your car so if you need me to bring you home just call me or send a message, anything's fine.

He was on the verge of stopping by every house in the city just to find you when Heeseung told him to go home and rest. The boys had been trying to comfort Jay for hours now, but nothing had seemed to work. Not being able to cope with the sadness mixed with the flashbacks of your rendezvous, Jay accepts his friends suggestion, going back to his own house where he can rest peacefully… or so he thought.

All this while, Jay had been absentmindedly carrying your jacket around like a lost puppy, the one you left in Jakes guest room. It's the one thing he has of you at the moment and he can't help but grip on to it like his life depended on this sole object.

He sighs as he plops down onto his bed, both feeling spent and exhausted. Jay wanted to sleep, he really did, but how could he when the memories of your night together flashes in his mind on repeat. Not to mention how your jacket sits there on his bed, tempting him to sin.

It's sad, he knows. The memories of you becoming too extreme and plus, he's too miserable. How did a night so perfect become this disastrous?

Tonight, Jay was about to confess his undying adoration and maybe, you were going to do the same too. But it was all ruined because of something so trivial. Yet, how can he blame you? If he found out you only looked at him because of a game, he would walk out too, maybe even do something even worse.

But that's not the case for Jay. There's not a single hint of doubt in his body that he loves you. But then again, you didn't know that. If only he had just confessed to you sooner, then maybe, this could've all been prevented. And because of his actions, he lost you. So, for now, as he spends the night wide awake, Jay tortures himself as his mind dive into the memories of both you and him, to the times you spent together doing something as simple as sitting next to each other and to the ones where he almost made love to you.

His mind drowns in all the possibilities; of you under him, on top of him, beside him. It's all making Jays mind fuzzier. The line between imagination and reality blurring as his erotic fantasies intensify. Forgive him. He knows it's not the time to be feeling this way, but what else can he do when you left him in the middle of the night, hard and horny. He's already cried his heart out, maybe now is the time to temporarily mend it.

Yeah, let's just patch it up with tape for now.

Jay is boisterous and never easily flustered when it came to topics like sex. If so, then why is he shaking?

His hands continue to trail around his stomach, thinking that it'd be an image you'll be impressed in. Jay takes pride in his physique because after all, he's trained ruthlessly for over three years just to get this kind of body. So, of course, he's going to want you to put at least some attention to it.

Eyeing the grip he has on your jacket, Jay debates whether or not to do it before finally saying fuck it. In a desperate attempt to keep his emotions at bay, Jay covers his face with the fabric of your jacket. The cloth is covered in your scent and it's intoxicating to him as only a few moments ago, you were the only thing in this world that he could feel, taste, hear, and smell. It's a simple perfume and it doesn't suffocate his nostrils when he inhales it.

As he does, the scent of you fills his systems and he's yet again reminded of the things that happened in Jakes guest room. He wonders what else you would've done if the two of you went further. Thinking like you're doing it to him, Jay begins by trailing his hand up to rest on top of his abs, caressing and tracing the soft skin. His breath hitches as he inhaled, getting another strong whiff of your scent coated on the jacket. "YN," He sighs.

Eventually, the light caresses he's making are just not enough anymore. He wants something stronger, something to distract him from his sorrows. Wanting to do so, Jay grazes his fingers on top of his nipples, stimulating them as he breathes in once more, nostrils filling with your scent before pulling the jacket off his face. His brows are furrowed, feeling the way his mouth waters at the actions he had been planning to do. Jay releases a small whimper when he finally moves tug on his nipples, imagining it's you doing it to him. Jay has never touched his nipples while misturbating before and he'd never once thought of doing it. Not until he got a taste of you.

Wanting to get a better simulation of your wet lips on his body, he takes his fingers in his mouth and coats them with a thick layer of his own saliva before using it to pinch his nipples, tweaking the bud in his own fingers. It's only then does Jay notice the red colored tint that managed to mix with his saliva. It's the remnants of your lipstick that got smudged onto his mouth. This time, the boy releases a loud and drawn out moan, the scenario feeling all too real for his rotting brain.

"YN," He moans. "I l-love you." He chokes out the confession in between pants.

As time goes on, Jays pants start to suffocate him, his boner getting harder the more he plays with himself as the various different scenarios of you on top of him plague his mind.

The only position Jay could imagine the both of you in right now is you on top, taming and punishing him like the brat he is. He applauds himself for coming up with such a logical scenario. It's the only one that makes sense.

Bunching up your jacket into a small ball, Jay presses the fabric onto the bulge of his pants, imagining it as your cunt instead. He shuts his eyes close, head throwing back at the slightest stimulation. Jay flexes his jaw when he grinds his hips upwards into the fabric as he holds it in place. He feels ashamed of his actions. It's something he thinks a sane person won't do, but at the end of the day, is Jay still right in the head?

But it'll have to do for now. While he doesn't have you in his arms, he's going to have to make do with what he has.

He's not. It's clear in the way he hurriedly plies his pants off that he's not able to think clearly anymore. He wants you to ride him, wants to feel himself deep inside your pussy. But he can't because he's a stupid fucking piece of shit that can't get his priorities straight. Maybe if he had just remembered to tell you about how the game is fucked and that he doesn't care about it, then maybe, it would have been you on top of him right now instead of this makeshift pocket pussy.

With his goal in mind, Jay wraps the whole of your jacket around his dick. His hands hold the fabric in place, suffocating his dick with your scent as his hands start to guide it up and down. Endless rays of moans, whimpers, and groans spill out of Jays mouth, the sound of your jacket rubbing on his dick making his mind grow crazier. Like a broken record, Jay chants your name over and over as he continues to jack off.

That's how Jays night went. Despite the pleasure he received from his high, Jay was still depressed and sad. Now, however, it's mixed with a sense of shame and guilt, both at the fact that despite losing you, his mind still managed to come up with dirty scenarios of you together and because he soiled your jacket with his cum.

It's no worries though, he can just get it dry cleaned before giving it back to you. Shame your scent won't be on it anymore, but maybe it's for the best since his mind might make up erotic fantasies of the both of you again.

"Alright, ladies! Come over here." Heeseung calls and tuts for his team to come closer. He continues once all of his members are gathered around him. "Coach is out today. Something about getting his balls cut off." He informs, voice monotone with disinterest as his eyes never once leave the clipboard he's holding.

"As per his majesty's request, we're going to be doing 30 laps around the field today—" His words get cut off with a series of protests and groans coming from his own team. "Don't make me up to 60."

"3 reps of 200 Bench presses, 150 military presses, 150 squats. After that we're going to do deadlifts. Coach said Sunoo and Jungwon need to gain more muscle. So…" Heeseung continues to list on, reading the exercise routine their Coach provided for them while he's away.

Listening from the back, Jay eventually tunes out Heeseungs voice once he moves on to personal exercises. Instead, he diverts his attention towards the bleachers where multiple girls begin occupying the seats as per usual. It's normal for their fan girls to begin taking their seats once classes are over, wanting to catch a glimpse of one of them naked and sweaty. Jay doesn't mind the attention, however. What he does mind is how he still can't seem to find you anywhere. The boy has been searching for you for a whole day now. The two of you had literature class today and he was going to take that chance to talk and explain himself to you. But when he stepped into class, you were nowhere to be seen. You blonde little friend wasn't there either so it wasn't like he could ask her for your whereabouts. He could only pray that the two of you just decided to ditch literature class today as there's a dark corner in his mind that thinks you might have transferred to a different class, or maybe even a different school. But he knows better than to think that, especially when he finally saw the said blonde there, sitting on one of the bleachers. To Jays dismay though, there was no trace of you.

Ignoring Heeseung's call and his teammates' wandering glances, he joggs over to where your friend sat. She lets out a surprised yelp, quickly composing herself when she sees the man standing in front of her so suddenly out of nowhere.

"Hey," Jay casually greets her and then asks, "Liz, right?"

"Yes…" She drags, tilting her head to the side, eyes shifting back and forth between Jay and everywhere else as she begins to feel flustered under his intimidating aura.

"Do you know where YN is?"

An excited squeal escapes Liz's lips, struggling to contain her excitement when the question leaves Jays mouth. Liz is an innocent little thing and an oblivious one at that. No doubt, she's a friend you can come to when you're in need of a shoulder to cry on or a body to seek comfort in, but you can never lean on Liz when it comes to topics like relationships. In the best way possible, Liz is an airhead dreamer. Liz always looks as if she's in a different world, a world filled with her likes. She's tooth achingly nice and almost as pure as milk. There's not a bad bone in the girls body and that's why you love her to bits. Sure, there are times when she breaks character, but mostly, that's because she senses trouble in people. It's like the time when Yunjin dissed you and Liz fired back with her own reply. She's different and you can only curse her mother for letting her watch Harry Potter's Luna Lovegood on repeat as a child as there's no doubt in your mind that that was the reason for Liz's behaviour. But, nevertheless, you love the girl to death.

That's the reason why Liz is still fond of Jay. When her dear friend came to her that night to cry her heart out, she comforted the girl in her arms, hushing her and telling her that everything was alright despite not knowing the horrors she just experienced.

Liz didn't know what happened and if she asked, she knew you wouldn't tell her. So, she sticks to consoling you despite whatever events took place, oblivious to the fact that the man standing in front of her was the cause of it all. Maybe, not telling Liz was a mistake. Maybe, you should've tried using everything in your power to make her understand that this world isn't full of butterflies and roses. Instead, you should teach her the truth, that this world is unforgiving, so many worshipped God's and yet none of them take pity on you. But, despite what you think, you just can't taint her. Let her think that the world is wonderful, that everyone has kindness in their hearts. You'll carry all the burden just so she could stay happy.

"She's in the art room!" Liz eagerly replies, smiling crazily at the boy as the thought of Jay and you together still plague her mind. She's still convinced that you and Jay are meant together. Knowing Liz, she'll do whatever it takes if she thinks it'll make you happy and right now, she thinks that bringing Jay to you will help her achieve her dream. "You should go now. The art room is usually empty around this hour, so YN is the only one there." She ushers.

Smiling appreciably, Jay nods and thanks her gratefully. Jay doesn't question why YNs supposed best friend sells him the information so easily. Aren't best friends supposed to hate the guys who made their friends cry? Oh god, Jay didn't even think about it before, but he could've made you cry. The thought just makes Jays heart ache even harder and the feeling of self disgust seeps back in his system again. Nonetheless, he's grateful that Liz is giving him the chance to make it up and explain himself to you. He's determined to do so and if things go better than planned, he might come back to your good graces.

Before making his way towards the art room, he makes a detour and heads towards his locker. There, hangs the same jacket you wore the night he was about to love you deeper and the same night where he had unintentionally broken your heart.

Securing the jacket in his hands, he catches a whiff of your scent on it and he can't help but bury his face in it, savouring and trying to imprint your scent into his brain. The possibility of losing you is great. If you decide that you don't want Jay anymore, he'll at least have your scent to carry him out through his life. Stray tears leave his eyes at the thought, heart wrenching as it struggles to handle such a sorrowful thought. He's praying to every God above and below for some sort of miracle, for him to be forgiven. He swears with his life that if some supernatural phenomenon does happen and you end up loving him, Jay's not going to mess around anymore. He's going to be yours to own solely. He's going to turn his life around for good. Fuck that wretched game. Fuck winning. He doesn't care about any of it at all. If he's being honest, even if you don't take him back, he's never going to participate in playing that silly game ever again. There's not a chance in this world he's ever going to get over you and there's an even bigger chance that he's never going to have sex with anyone else other than you. Abstinence is fine, he doesn't care. He knows he's not going to get you back with that, but he's trying to make a statement here, people. And plus, he has to start somewhere, right?

Peeking inside through the small gap he made on the door, he finds you sitting in front of a canvas with your back turned to him. Just like what Liz said, there was no other occupant in the room, but you.

With your back turned to him, he's able to see what you're painting on your canvas. It's a picture of what seems to be a field of green. A huge tree is painted on the side of the canvas while two figures of a couple seem to be sitting down on a blanket. He stares at your canvas in awe, amazed at how something so breathtaking can come out using only someone's mere hands. His eyes are entranced, unable to look away as you stroke your brush on the canvas with so much confidence, unnerved of the possibility of making any sort of mistake. But, even if you were to ever make a wrong stroke, he's already sure that with the way your hands move so freely on the canvas, you can make even the ugliest of things attractive.

"If you're going to keep staring at me like that then just come in. You aren't really doing a subtle job at stalking me." Your voice catches Jay off guard. It makes him stumble on his own feet, falling down on his butt on the ground, slamming the door back on the wall with him along the way. Jay's cheeks flare up as once again, he has embarrassed himself in front of you.

"S-Sorry." He stutters out, feeling flustered now that he's in your presence. Everything he's planned to tell you dissipates and it feels like he's choking. Your tone is vicious and it's clear to Jay that you're angry at him. He has to compose himself fast so he can't anger you any more by wasting your time. Taking a deep breath, Jay breathes in and out, trying to tame his heart. It proves to be harder than expected however when he locks eyes with you, brows furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line.

"Why're you here?" You ask in a tone so cold and monotone that Jay almost whimpers. It's been a while since you've used such a way of speaking with him. The last instance he could remember was when you had met for the first time. But even back then, your tone was welcoming to Jay in a sense that he could tease you.

This time, however, it's serious and you're angry. There's no room to joke, no room to tease and Jay feels like he's going to suffocate. He's never been this nervous to be around you. It's always him being comfortable, teasing, and messing around while you react to his jokes. This is too harsh for the poor boys heart and he just wants to be forgiven already.

"I— I came here… to… to—" He's mustering up the courage to speak, but it's hard when your stare is so intimidating.

You cut him off before he could stutter even more. "To, what? Don't waste my time, Jay." You say, harshly. "I don't want to see you right now so get to the point."

"Y-Your jacket!" He says, feeling a thin streak of sweat running down his temple as he utters out the first thing that comes to mind. "You left your jacket at Jakes house. Here." The boy murmurs before shuffling closer to you to pull out the said jacket you had left.

Looking at Jay blankly as if feeling dumbfounded, you then stare back and forth between him and his outstretched arm before taking the jacket from him slowly. At first, his grip on the jacket makes it seem like he doesn't want to hand it over to you. It's when you quirk an eyebrow up to question him does his grip relent, letting you take the jacket. "Thanks…"

You should be angrier, colder, you say to yourself. That was the initial plan; to live on the rest of your life ignoring Jay so you could forget about the love you have for him. But why is it that when the time came to execute your plan, you backed out? After what he did, your feelings should've been gone and yet, why do you feel such an immense sense of longing whenever you look at him and he's not by your side. It's impossible to ignore him, and it's even harder to do so when your heart yearns for his presence. It's suffocating having to be without him. You feel as if you were ripped in half, broken and can only be fixed by one person.

You wanted to be logical, you wanted to hear him out because maybe, just maybe, he actually cared for you. If he did and you didn't hear him out now, then you would've lived the rest of your life filled with sorrow and dread. You wait for him, watching him as he fumbles with the buttons of his practice attire.

"Do you need anything else?" You know your tone is harsh, but you can't help it. You want to show him that you're mad, that you want an explanation, but you can't beg. No, you just can't. So, instead, you give him the decision to flip the coin whether or not he's going to explain himself. You just want one thing to come out of his mouth besides the word sorry. Just one thing. You need to know if he's true, if what the both of you had was real, because if you don't, you're going to go crazy. Love makes you crazy and it's ruthless, but for Jay, you won't hesitate to dive back in and eperience every struggle.

"I… I wanted to say sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you, YN." He says as a few moments pass with the both of you just staring at each other, savoring your possible last moments together if either of you makes the decision to reject the other. Jay needed to get his act together and tell you how he feels. He wants you and he's willing to fight for it. "I just wanna say that… that I'm in love with you. I really do. And before you say anything, can you please let me explain myself?" He begs, eyes filled with desperation.

Silently, you nod, letting him let out the words he wants to say as you try to process his words. He loves you. The one phrase you wanted to hear from him, it's there, he just said it to you. All this time worrying about whether or not he actually loved you was all just for nothing. Deep inside, your heart feels alive and joyful. It may sound stupid, but with those simple words, you already feel like it's already worth forgiving him.

Watching Jay exhale almost made you want to giggle. But of course, wanting to intimidate him, you refrain from doing so.

"I love you, okay? A-And it's okay if you don't like me back. I mean, it— it isn't okay, but I would respect it." He stutters, cursing his awkward nature for coming out while he's in such a situation. "I just… My feelings for you, they were all real. Please believe me because I really do love you. My heart, I-It's never done this before, but whenever I think of you, it just starts hurting and it only stops when I'm finally next to you. I guess, in a way, you kinda… uhm, complete me." Feeling shy, he mutters the last part, debating whether or not it was too cheesy to say or not, but he ended up saying it either way out of nervousness.

When he looks back at you to see your reaction, you only nod. Taking that as a sign that you're permitting him to continue, he does. "A-And about the game. The game… I'll be honest with you, I completely forgot about it. I promise, I never intended to take pictures of you that night. Honestly, just— just fuck the game, in general! Will you be my girlfriend, instead?" Jays mouth acts before he could stop himself from unintentionally spilling the words out.

Hear me out, it's not like Jay doesn't want you to be his girlfriend, he just doesn't think now is a good time to ask. Since you haven't said anything, you're still technically mad at him. He just couldn't help but feel carried away as he poured his heart out and of course, his heart also wanted to ask the very question he thought should come in last.

Jay slaps his mouth shut as he's struck with bafflement. "I— I'm so sorry, YN! Ididn'tmeantoaskyouthatallofasudden. Iknowarelationshipisthelastthingyouwantfrommeanditotallyunderstanditifyourejectme!" He stammers all in one breath in an attempt to redeem himself.

Thinking he had completely fucked up his chances, Jay takes buries his face in his hands, too ashamed to look at you. Perhaps, if he looked up, he would've seen the amused smile on your face as you watch the boy cringe at himself. He continues to drown himself in embarrassment, chanting an endless degree of apologies as you sit there. Eventually, you start to giggle as you watch him. The euphoric noise pulls Jay out of his self-humiliation, now looking at you with unbelieving eyes as he watches you continue to burst into a fit of giggles. Throwing your head back as you clutch your stomach while wiping the non existent tears in your eyes, eventually making Jay realise that you aren't mad at him anymore.

Still though, he looks at you warily, wondering if this is a trap and that you're actually about to yell at him. He waits for a scream to tell him to leave, but nothing comes. "YN?" He asks you when you've calmed down.

"Oh, Jay." You manage to say in between deep breaths as you try to compose yourself. "You're just the cutest thing ever."

"I.. Wh—" He stumbles on his words, unsure of what to say nor what's happening. "Huh?"

He's just too cute! Ugh, you just want to squish his cheeks together. It's as if all the anger in your body has eroded with those simple words of affirmation. Honestly, it might seem like you're letting him get off the hook so easily, but what can you do? The boy has you wrapped around his fingers.

"I…" He trails off, unable to form words as he stands with your arms wrapped around the span of his thighs while your head rested on top of his toned stomach. "You really don't hate me?"

Smiling, you open your arms for Jay, spreading your legs in the process so he can step closer to you. When he does, you take him in your arms in a huge hug.

Jays body grows stiff, the situation still feeling odd to him. It was that easy? He was so ready to drop down his knees in front of you and start begging for you to take him back, to call himself worthless, to tell you that he's really really changed and that if you didn't believe him, he'll try his hardest to prove himself worthy of your affection.

Chuckling against his stomach, you nod, head rubbing on his skin before you tighten your arms around him as if to prove that you were serious. You can feel the boys sincerity through his words; how honest and true his feelings are. Although your wall has already been slowly chipping down, now, you let it fall completely. Your guard is no more and you've willingly pulled it down for only Jay to enter.

This time, you're dedicated not to make anymore accusations. You believed in Yunjin too quickly, and that was your fault. You put yours and Jays relationship at risk, and that was also your fault. Even though you've made so many mistakes, Jay is still at your front door, knocking and asking if he could enter. Despite hurting him, he's still begging for you to take him back. In a way, you feel bad for Jay. There's a part of you that thinks that because you've hurt him so much, you shouldn't have the privilege of being with him anymore. But Jay only wants you; your love, your touch, and your kisses. He doesn't want anyone else and he's willing to take the pain that comes with loving you because after all, what's love without a little pain? Jay's a masochist after all.

"I hope you know I'm not going to continue playing your little game, Jay." You say as you pull away to get a good look at him.

"I wasn't going to ask you to play the game in the first place." He replies, confidence slowly building up as the hope for a romantic relationship with you bubbles. "But if you want, you can just play with me instead."

Taking a bold move, Jay leans his face downwards, closer to yours. Jay eyes the way you bite your lips while your own locks onto the attractive cut in the middle of his bottom lip. You want to lick it, to kiss it again, but you hold yourself back, wanting to tease the boy more.

At his offer, fire spreads through your eyes like wildfire and it doesn't help the fact that he's so close to you as you try to contain yourself from jumping him. Jay looks so hot when he's confident, when he's cocky. You remember a time where you used to hate this look on him and his other peers, but look at you now. With Jays classic smirk on his lips, it sets your mind into a frenzy and you're on the verge of losing all your self control. It's only a matter of time until you break, but you hope to god Jay crumbles first, for the sake of your pride.

You can see the determination in Jays eyes and it only makes you swell with pride how eager the boy is to have you. With that being said, you wonder and ask him with a teasing tone. "Are you normally this shameless Jay?"

"Shameless?" He asks in such an innocent manner you almost forget how close he is to you without your permission. "I'm only like this towards you." He says, smiling cheekily.

"Ah," You let out, nodding your head before telling it to the side. Smirking, "You don't let girls go down on you normally, hm?"

"No," He answers, eyes trained to you and voice sounding far off and breathless as if in a trance. "Only you."

That's it. That was the last straw and now, your resolve is completely broken. The initial plan to keep things PG is thrown out the window. Now, you just want to have him, kiss him, lick him, break him.

Just like how he's so in control whenever he's in the field, you're going to play with him whichever way you want.

"Aw," You coo, hands brushing his hair back before using your nails to scratch behind his ear, like how you would when tending to a cat. "Is my kitty that needy?"

With the way Jays eyes look, you can tell he wants to close the gap and bring himself closer to you, however, before he could, your hand squishes both his cheeks as you hold him in place. Dejected, Jay whines and his mouth forms into a pout. His eyes plead for you to let him near and you're certainly not blind to the way his eyes yearn pleadingly while looking at the smirk coating your lips, silently begging for you to let him kiss you. Jay's used to getting what he wants, and he wants you. You're willing to give him what he wants of course, but not without teasing him first.

Having been caught so easily, he blushes at your question, wanting to look away in embarrassment, but your grip on his cheeks are hindering him from doing so. Then, he whines, both from the restriction and the nickname you gave him. "Answer me first, please." He meekly says, voice sounding small.

"Answer what, kitty?"

Jay blushes even harder, whining as he knows damn well you're aware of what question he's talking about. "Be my…" He starts, but his voice falters afterwards when he catches you staring at him with a teasing smirk on your face.

Biting your lips to conceal your laughter, you continue to mock him, loving the flustered look on someone so boisterous like Jay. "Be your, what?"

"Fuck," He mutters when you decide to take your teasing one step farther by standing up and wrapping your arms around the small of Jays waist, pulling his body close to you to the point where your noises touch. "Will you… be… my girlfriend?"

"There you go, baby." You say in a childish tone, applauding Jay for finally being able to mutter the question. Hearing another pet name come out of you makes Jay even shier than he was before, head now burying into your neck as he tries to conceal his feverous blush. "But, yes, Jay. I'll gladly be your girlfriend."

Fireworks erupt in Jays stomach, now feeling even bubblier as you accept him as your boyfriend. Unable to contain his happiness, Jay buries his head deeper into your neck while his buff arms wrap around your thighs so he can lift you up and spin you around. Both yours and Jays laughter fill the vacant room, uncaring whether or not someone in the halls might hear. They'll think the two of you are crazy, but you don't care. All you care about is the happiness of finally being complete and whole.

"Can I kiss you now?" Jay asks all too quickly as he carefully sets you down.

Laughing at your boyfriends eagerness, you nod, letting Jay capture your lips in his.

The kiss is innocent and light, but most importantly, it's perfect. It's not your first time kissing Jay, yet, there's something different about this time. Maybe, it's because now, neither of you are intoxicated. Maybe, because now, the two of you have shown your love for each other. Neither Jay nor can you suppress your joyous smiles as the both of you continue to kiss each other despite your teeth hitting from time to time.

You hold Jays head still so you could properly kiss him and this time, you don't hesitate to kiss him harder in order to show how much passion and care you have for the boy. Of course, Jay immediately responds. It's like his second nature now. If you kiss him, his body automatically moves to answer even before his brain can process what's happening.

Jay tilts his head to the side, deepening your kiss and letting out a muffled moan when you slide your tongue past his mouth. For the second time, he lets you explore every crevice of his mouth, tangling his tongue with yours from time to time. You hum into the kiss when you feel Jays hands slide down to cup your ass. If it were any other day, you would've slapped Jays hand away while you scolded him, telling him how bold he's getting without your permission. But for now, you let him enjoy himself, let him explore and caress every part of your body. It's like he's trying to familiarise himself with his new property and like any other new owner, he wants to see everything bare and naked.

When you bite down hard on his lip, Jay whimpers, hand clutching your shirt as he looks at you with a gaze that tells you he wants something. Releasing the skin with one final nibble, he talks, "Let me fuck you."

Jay should've seen it coming. He knows you're a tease, and that you'd never let him take the easy way in life. When you chuckle at his request, he knows he's in for the time of his life. "No."

"No?" He asks, unsure whether you really won't let him do anything despite showing the same amount of eagerness.

You hum, nodding. "No."

"Uhm, then…" He asks, shifting his weight between his legs awkwardly.

"I have something else planned for you." You tell him, a mischievous grin set on your face as your hand traces his shoulder in an attempt to help soothe his abnormally quick heartbeat "Be my muse again."

Dumbfounded, Jay looks at you with furrowed brows wondering why you so suddenly asked to paint him out of nowhere. But despite that, Jay agrees because at the end of the day, he'll do whatever you ask of him.

Seeing him nod, you bite your lips before giving his lips a quick peck. You guide him to sit on a chair a few inches in front of your easel. Placing yourself in between his legs, you ruffle Jays hair in a way that makes him look sweet and edible. You don't let a single hair go untouched as you hands rake his scalp and Jay only sighs in delight as he lets you do whatever you want to him and his body.

Finally deciding that you're done, you take a step back to admire the image of Jay that you've created; hair tousled like the two of you had been making out for hours, lips slightly swollen, and eyes looking at you wide and expecting.

You let out a hum in approval as Jay watches you saunter back to stand in front of your canvas. "Take your shirt off." You instruct while your eyes stay occupied with picking the colors you want to use for your portrait.

When you're finally able to draw out your palette, you look at Jay. You raise an eyebrow at him, ignoring the shocked look on his face as his shirt still clings onto his body. Realising that he hadn't misheard you, he quickly shuffles to take his shirt off, letting it fall gently onto the floor close to where he sat. He looks at you expectantly, wondering if there's anything else you'd like for him to do.

You let out a hum as you ponder, chin resting on your palms while you tap your feet on the hard ground. "Take your pants off too."

Now, Jay has an idea of what you want to do and he's just as excited as you are. So, after quickly kicking his pants off, he stays on alert for your next instructions.

"Oh, Jay." You dreamily sigh, looking at your boyfriend as if he was your prey. "You look so good right now. I can just eat you out."

The fog in Jays mind is moving quicker than usual as now, It's actually you talking to him and not just his imagination creating scenarios for him. The way you talk to him is making him go crazy and he can feel his dick in his pants rapidly hardening despite you not touching him.

"Do it." He tells you while his body looks for your touch.

When he looks at you with strong eyes, you only laugh at him. "Be good, baby. Don't wanna ruin my portrait, don't you?"

"Fuck the portrait. I wanna fuck you." He curses, voice strong and demanding, both traits you aren't seeking as of the moment.

You click your tongue at how disobedient Jay is, rolling your eyes as you warn him that if does something he isn't told to, he's going to get punished.

It's clear that Jay wants to challenge you when he shakes in his seat out of unruliness. It seems as if Jay doesn't believe your warnings, doesn't believe that you'll really punish him if he misbehaves. So, just to prove to him that your words are true and not empty threats, you walk up to Jay and yank his boxers down. Now, Jays dick is exposed to your stare and the cold air, both making Jays length harder. Initially, you had planned to take things easy and paint Jay while he's naked. But now that he's shown you his lack of respect, you're going to kick things up a notch by torturing him. It's a shame you didn't bring a vibrator with you, you could've used it on your brat, but no matter, you have other things planned that'll surely help you tame him.

Taking his dick in your hands, you let a thick glob of your saliva drop down onto his tip, spreading your lubricant around his dick while you jack him off. Jay immediately reacts by bucking his hips into your hand, choking out a surprised moan as he didn't expect for you to touch him so boldly. Despite you clicking your tongue at his actions, you love to see Jay getting desperate. Although your mouth drools at the sight of him fucking your hand while you jack him off, you hold his hips down, planting them on top of the seat as you continue to work on hardening his dick.

"Y-YN." He stutters, voice calling out to you as he closes his eyes and throws his head back in pleasure. "Keep… going."

Loving the reaction Jay's giving you, you gladly fasten the pace of your hand, seeking more of the noises he lets out. "That's it, kitty. Be a good boy and moan for me."

Now, Jay's panting, trying to catch his breath. Opening his eyes, he peeks a glance at you from between his spread legs, only to curse himself off for being so stupid as when Jay thought he could last atleast a few minutes before he blows, it's now cut to mere seconds, the image of you eyeing his dick with hunger making him too horny. "Stop! YN, please. Don't wanna… so soon…"

Hearing his cries, you slow your pace down a bit, grin only widening when you realise how quickly he's getting worked up. You let him recollect himself for a second before resuming back to work. This time, you press the palm of your hand on the tip of his dick. His head is leaking so much precum, it looks like it could amount to the same as your saliva. You collect him in your palm before going back down to the base of his dick. Jay lets out a strangled sob, the pleasure you're giving him feeling too good and despite his attempts to quiet himself down, he's just unable to when you're moving like you know every tick he has. The veins on Jays dick start to come out and it catches your attention so, you take your index finger and trace every vein on his dick with wonder.

It's not that long before Jay's own high starts building up, and this time he makes it a point to tell you without the intention of stopping. Jay places himself on the edge of his seat, orgasming approaching the faster you jack him off. You focus on his head, taking the head in your fist and circling your wrist. Jays orgasm is right around the corner and before he could reach it, you pull away, leaving him to choke on air while his orgasm dissipates.

You look at Jay with humorous eyes, tongue coming out to lick your lips at the image of him panting heavily with his back leaned onto the chair. When he finally opens his eyes, they're completely drunk. "You're so mean." He pouts, still hung over his ruined orgasm.

Jay looks at you speechless yet again as you never seem to fail to surprise him. He whines, trying to persuade you to come do it to him instead and give up on the painting, but all you do is shut him up, telling him that if he doesn't do as he's told, he's never going to cum.

"I told you to be good." You remind him. "Now, keep touching yourself while I paint you." You command, tossing his dick on his stomach before leaving him to go back and stand in front of your easel.

Noticing the mess on your hand, you smirk before quickly locking eyes with Jay, taking your fingers in your mouth to suck and clean them off as you lick the palms of your fingers. Through that, you got a small whiff of his taste, mouth now watering as you feel your patience running low.

Finally acknowledging your threat, Jay nods his head disappointedly. The boy takes his dick in his hand, finally getting to feel how hard he's gotten and it's painful having to endure more of it. He'll never admit it, but he loves this side of you, loves it when you over power him and boss him around. He'll try to hide his liking for it by misbehaving or by talking back as he knows he'll never hear the end of it if you find out how much he goes crazy for a couple of insulting words from you.

"Go on, big boy. Show me how pretty you are."

And with that, Jay immediately gets to work. Starting off by using the remnants of your spit on his dick, he starts gliding his hand up and down in a slow manner, trying to build up the stimulation so he doesn't get overwhelmed too quickly and cum. From his half opened eyes, he sees a glimpse of you dipping your wide brush onto the circular palette. He's tempted to ask you for a peek as Jay always gets excited whenever you paint him. He feels special whenever he gets to be your muse, often times wanting to do a good job both because it's a portrait of him you're doing and also because he plainly just wants to do his best for you so you could praise him.

It may not seem like it but Jay's a sucker for your praises. It's just masked by how often you scold him for teasing you, but what can the boy do? At this point, teasing is practically his primary love language. He loves the way you react to him when he teases you, how good you are at putting him back in his place. He lives for that shit; annoying you and then paying for it later on. It's an event he won't ever get tired of no matter how often or how long you two do it.

"Aw, baby." You coo, voice pulling Jay out of his head.

"Y— ngh, yeah?" He seethes out, dick twitching uncontrollably because of your stare.

"Your head looks so angry, kitty." You comment, chin nudging towards his direction.

Indeed, his head is angry and not only that, but his body feels like it's on fire. Your words provide him not a single drop of help with keeping his orgasm at bay, mind only going crazier as he listens to all the dirty words you throw at him. "That's a good boy. You look so hot right now, Jay. Painting you always feels so nice."

With the quickening pace of his hand, Jay can feel how close he is to cumming. His only regret is telling you because the moment he announces that he's about to cum, you tell him to stop.

Despite Jays willingness, his body only abides to your words and thus, he has no choice but to halt his movements. Jay cries out, small tears trickling down the corner of his eyes at having been denied his orgasm twice. With pleading eyes, Jay sends a look of longing towards you, however, it gets ignored as you busy yourself with finishing a rough outline of Jays body.

He calls out to you like a lost baby, pout only growing as he tries to make himself look cuter, hoping that you'd take pity on him. "Yes, baby?" You ask, head popping up at the side of the canvas to look at Jay.

"I need you, YN.” He answers, hand still wrapped around his dick as he bites down on his lip. The sight of him makes you wet and it's hard to resist him when he looks this amazing. Because of the sweat, Jays abs are now glistening, the light shining through the window highlighting each pack of his muscle. When Jay pumps his dick, his stomach can't help but clench involuntarily at the stimulation, making it so that his abs flexed at the motion in an arousing manner.

You can't take it anymore, even just the thought of him makes your pussy wetter. All you want to do is plant your hands around Jay and that’s exactly what you're planning to do— after you finish your portrait. Jay doesn’t need to wait longer though. You only need to do a few more messy outlines before finishing. To be honest, when you asked him to sit down and be your muse again, you didn't expect to get technical with all the details, knowing deep down how little self-control you have when it comes to handling Jay. Like him, you just melt with every slightest touch he gives. You’re just better at concealing it.

Finishing off the portrait with highlights on his biceps, you nearly throw both your palette and paintbrush away in a rush to get to Jay. You don't even try to conceal the eagerness in you as you capture Jays lips in yours, turning it into a full on makeout session not even seconds after. A hand comes up to tangle into the strands of his hair, pulling and gripping onto his locks, making Jay grunt as your other hand grazes over curve of his collarbone, nails scratching his skin from time to time, eliciting a moan from the boy under you.

Alas, you’re finally on him and it’s everything Jay has ever wanted. Gone is the poor simulation of you in his mind because it just doesn't compare to the real thing. You haven’t even done much to him and yet he’s already moaning into your mouth like your fucking him. Jay doesn’t care if he looks desperate anymore. He’s waited long enough and now that you’re here, he’s not going to hold anything back.

Jay whines when you leave his mouth, wondering why you’d put him through this misery. He ends up eating his words soon after though when he feels your lips kissing the side of his neck. The kisses you plant are ticklish, making Jay recoil and giggle. Finding him cute, you smile at your boyfriend with adoration, eyes twinkling with love as he continues to laugh when you chase him and dive back into his neck.

It’s cute for a moment while you plant a mix of short and sweet kisses all over Jays neck. Occasionally, Jay giggles, unable to contain his laughter as he grips on to your hips, making sure that you’re still close to him no matter what. However, the said innocent kisses soon turn into erotic ones when you sit yourself on his lap and right next to his erect penis. You take the same arm that used to be knotted in Jays hair, now placing them on top of his dick. Your lips go back to clash with his, spit mixing with each other as you let him suck on the bottom of your lip. Your hand starts pumping Jays dick at a languid pace, body leaning closer to his so that you’re chest to chest with him. Your free hand rests on top of Jays heart, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath his skin.

Jay leans his head back, letting you kiss all over his throat. "Mark me."

"What’s the magic word, baby?" You ask, licking a long line on Jays neck.

Moaning, he answers, "Please. Please, YN. Mark me. Wan’ show everyone ’m yours."

"There we go." You tell him, patting his head. "That's a good, kitty."

As per his request, you start to suck on Jays neck harder with the intent of creating bruises on his skin. Jay thanks you with a loud moan, hand wrapping around your body as he thrusts up into your hand. You plant hickeys all over Jays skin, not forgetting to lick it better afterwards to soothe his abused flesh.

Time goes on with you and Jay just making out with each other, limbs tangling in a desperate attempt to be closer. It’s not enough anymore as both of your bodies start to crave each other harder— not to mention the fact that Jay’s leaking so much into your hand, you’re afraid his dick is going to have a serious issue if he doesn't come sooner. And so, using that as an excuse, you finally stand up to pull your underwear down and hiking the pencil skirt you wore upwards, letting it sit on your waist.

The boy stares at you with wide eyes filled with wonder, mouth hanging open as he eyes you pussy in front of him. Noticing his intense stare, you chuckle, finding him adorable even in this state. ‘’You want it, honey?’’

‘’God, yes. Give it to me.’’ Is that even a question? Of course he wants to have a taste of you. It’s all he’s ever been thinking about so, of course he’s going to say yes.

Wrapping his hands around your thighs, Jay pulls you to him abruptly, making you yelp. Spreading your legs apart, Jay slides his nose in between your folds and inhales your scent of arousal. Your hands ravel themselves into Jays hair where you feel his nose bump into your clit. You’re so horny, the slightest touch already has your knees weak.

Jay then gets to work when you push his head towards your cunt, taking that as his signal. His tongue dives into your wetness, immediately groaning against your vagina when he finally gets to taste you. The vibrations made by his mouth sends shocks of pleasure throughout your body, feeling it tingle harsher when Jay starts to lap onto your hole.

"Jay, baby," You moan, rolling your hips harder into his face.

Unable to talk, Jay replies to you with a hum, pressing his tongue harder and making you buck against his face. Jays pace picks up when he hears the way you’re moaning for him. He wants to hear more, wants to hear how good he is at eating you out. He’s desperate for more so, he shifts his attention from your hole to your clit instead, wanting to see your reaction. When Jay opens his eyes, he had to desperately pray to all the deities in this world just so he could compose himself and not cum at the sight in front of you. There you are, with your back arched, one hand pressed on to the back of his head to keep him place while the other tangles with your own hair. Your face is contorted in pleasure, brows furrowed, eyes closed, and lips caught in between your teeth, Your mouth opens from time to time to give Jay more affirmation, whether it’s in the form of moans, grunts, whines, or words, he doesn’t care, he’ll take what he can get.

"Baby— fuck," You hiss, thighs shaking as you feel your orgasm near. "I’m so close, baby. Keep going."

Only replying with a firm nod and a low hum, Jay fastens his movement onto your clit, circling his muscle around the bud. The action makes you go crazy, hands now gripping on to Jays hair with force as you concentrate on achieving your orgasm. It’s so near that you start shaking, moans growing louder when all of a sudden, everything is ripped away from you.

Jay backs away from you with a smirk, feeling proud of what he did as he grins at you in a cocky manner despite his mouth and chin being covered by a mixture of his saliva and your wetness.

You should’ve known that was going to happen. It’s Jays nature to tease you. Plus, you knew he’d get back at you for edging him so many times in the past. The thought just flew out of your head, too focused on the thought of cumming. Frustrated, you tug on Jay's hair, trying to get back at him for what he did. Even though you didn’t get the chance to cum, your thighs are still quivering like they did.

‘’Hey hey, you can’t get mad at me.’’ He says, backing off while he stays seated on the chair when he sees the way you eye him. ‘’If I don’t cum, you shouldn't either. We should cum together, riiight?’’ He says, dragging out the last word in a teasing voice.

‘’True,’’ You agreed before abruptly pulling him by his hand towards the huge table in the corner of the room. You take your place on top of the table, leaving him there to stand in between your legs. With your thighs spread open, Jay gets a clear view of your leaking vagina as well as your throbbing clit. Jays mouth waters at the sight, feeling enticed to just lean forward and eat you out again. But before he gets to, your legs wrap themselves around him, pulling him forward. His dick presses perfectly into your vagina and it even gets coated with some of your wetness. The two of you moan in unison, both desperate for their release.

As the both of you can’t wait any longer, you throw him the silver packet that’s been hiding inside your chest pocket, telling him to put it on. Jay does so without complaint, grateful that he’s finally getting some pussy after such a long time.

He almost can’t believe this is actually happening. He thinks that at any moment now, he’s going to wake up from this wet dream alone and without you. But now is not the time to dwell on such thoughts when you’re literally right in front of him, with your legs spread, eyes keenly watching as he slides the condom on his dick with shaking hands.

Jay lines himself with your cunt, breath quickening as he readies himself for what's to come. It's been awhile since he's done this with anyone, and the nerves are getting to him. Now that the real thing is hereward, all the skills he learned in the past seem to flow out of his head.

What if he doesn't perform well, would you be disappointed?

What is he even talking about? Of course you're going to be disappointed. All that talk about wanting to fuck you yet, he can't can't use his dick right. What kind of woman wants their man to be so incapable? Obviously, not you. Jay can tell from the way you carry yourself that you wouldn't lower your standards for anything other than perfect and yet, here Jay is, your boyfriend.

Still, his baseless doubts doesn't stop plaguing his mind. His breath is shaking, palms starting to sweat as he eyes your entrance. Jay wants to do good, show you that he's worth the risk you took. Jay's not a fool. He knows his reputation around school. That he's a manwhore that gets around by flirting with multiple girls at once. Not only that, but he knows how much you despise the varsity team. Yet, here you are, ready to let him fuck you. It means more to him than you think. You letting him be this close to you means that you trust him enough to show your most vulnerable parts and that just makes Jay even more nervous.

From where you laid, you watch with soft eyes as Jays hands start to shake. Your own hands shooing his off so you can put his dick inside you yourself. "You don't have to be so nervous, baby. Here, let me do it."

Placing the head of his dick inside your vagina, the both of you groan simultaneously. "Jay— fuck. You're so big, kitty."

Hearing you moan his name and compliment him at the same time makes Jays thighs tremble, the feeling of being inside is you is too overwhelming and he feels like his knees are about to fold. Noticing this, you take Jays hands in yours, letting them rest on the bottom of your stomach to provide him with some support.

He knows you're just trying to help him, but it really isn't working. Placing his hands there is only driving him nuts as once he was able to fully push his whole dick inside you, he got to feel the outline of his length inside when he pressed down on your abdomen.

"I… I can—" Jay's trying his best to talk, he really is, but whenever he tries, it just gets cut off with a sound of a sound of appreciation.

"Yeah, baby?" You chuckle when he fails to complete his sentence. "You feel yourself inside?"

Jay responds with a semi loud sob as he nods his head to your question.

"Take it easy, honey." You tell him, patting his cheek to console the worried boy. "I'm not going anywhere."

You're not going anywhere.

That's when Jay calms down. Hearing you say those words put his thoughts at ease. No matter what happens, you'll be there beside him so Jay shouldn't worry so much about messing up. He has your whole lives to love you, your whole lives to treat you like his queen. It makes Jay realise that he shouldn't be so caught up on trying to be perfect. I mean, he wants to perform well and he knows he'll achieve that when he shakes these invasive thoughts away. Now knowing what to do, Jay shakes to get a grip of himself and before you know it, he's already thrusting his hips into your cunt.

You release a dragged moan, hands pulling Jays head down so the two of you can kiss each other. Angling your head to the side, you put your tongue inside Jay and he gladly sucks on your muscle. Amidst the messy kiss you and Jay share, drool starts to seep past between your lips and pooling down your chin.

The urge to hold on to something arises and he can only think of your boobs to grip onto. Muttering the request to you, Jay's quick to act as the moment you tell him that he can, he's already ripping your blouse open and tearing your bra down. Jay leaves the sanctuary of your lips, wanting to give your boobs the attention they deserve. Your nipples lay there erect, inviting Jay on to lay his tongue flat on your nub. He licks the skin greedily before sucking on your skin harsher while he busies himself with groping your other breast.

Both his movements inside you and on your tits are driving your mind crazy and you can't help but scratch your nails onto his broad back, trying to grasp back a sense of reality. His movements are so good and so precise, you can feel yourself slipping between realities. Jay does a good job at finding the spot your crazy for the most as once you start to thrash around under his hold, he knew he was hitting your g-spot, and your boyfriend doesn’t hesitate to abuse it. It only makes you crazier, moans spilling out uncontrollably as it mixes with his own.

The noises Jay releases are euphoric and you don't hold back from commenting on it. "You sound so pretty, Jay. Keep moaning and I'm gonna cum."

Those words are what fuels Jay to thrust into you with more vigor. It's different from the casual pace he had used on you beforehand. Now, his pace is harder and rougher with the goal of making you cum in his mind. He wants to see you fall apart under him, wants to see the face and the noises you make when he makes you cream on his cock. Jay spreads your thighs apart, wanting to reach a deeper part of you.

Feeling his own high coming, Jay announces, "Wanna cum with you."

Despite being so close, you nod your head, willing yourself not to cum. Your breath gets caught up in your throat when Jay starts hitting that specific spot inside you faster, making you release a loud moan. "Shit! Right there, honey. You're doing so fucking good. Baby, cum for me."

With the way your pussy's squeezing the entirety of Jays cock, milking him for his release, Jay can't help but go feral, especially when you insert such dirty words through his ear. The sweat on Jays body paints a perfect picture of him, his muscles flexing every time he moves. His thrusts become more frantic and less rhythmic as he feels his high washing over him and before he knew it, he's already gripping both of your breasts in his palm, lips latching on to yours as the both of you cum.

Jays body lurches forwards, making him push his hips deeper. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, body becoming numb as your skin pressed onto his lips muffle his cries. Jay spurts his cum inside the plastic, some of it even spilling out because of how much he'd cum. After, he lets himself thrust into you at a languid pace, letting the both of you ride off your highs together.

"I love you, too by the way." Panting, you say, realising you left his confession without an answer.

He chuckled against your neck and then smiling right after because of how happy he was. "I love you more." He hmphs, egging you on for a challenge.

"Oh, yeah? I doubt it." You reply with a mischievous grin, leaning up to rub your nose against Jays. While doing so, your eyes catch a glimpse of the portrait you had previously made. "Think they’ll still accept your entry even though it’s not me on the picture?’’

Looking at you, your eyes lead him towards where your gaze is focused. He blushes, completely forgetting the naked painting you did just minutes prior. Catching on to what you were saying, Jay jokes, "They better. I need an ego boost after all that torture you put me through."

That day, you created your best artwork while Jay got his ticket to victory.

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